Mind Control

by gammara

Archer is captured and tortured by the Klingons - can anyone save his mind?

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Stories: Neat (G - PG13) With a Twist (R)
Misc: Episode Reviews Screen Captures

Title: Mind Control

Writer: tamideathmint.com

Editor: monica

Disclaimers: UPN, Paramount and Star Trek own all characters and rights.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Bounty, Stigma, Fusion

Synopsis: Archer is captured by Klingons, and T'Pol has to save his mind

Chapter One

Reed's voice shot out over the loud speaker on the Bridge. "We've got him! Have Dr. Phlox meet us at the transporter. Medical emergency." His voice faltered. "The captain …."

T'Pol rose from the captain's chair. "Acknowledged," she said, cutting off the unfinished statement. She pressed the comm button, "Lt. Baral?"

"Baral here. Go ahead, Sub-Commander."

"Please notify me when the away team and Captain Archer have been transported aboard," said T'Pol.

"Aye, ma'am," said Baral.

The Vulcan glanced over to the armory station. "Ensign Franklin, continue to keep our shields up and our weapons targeted on the vessel."

"Yes, ma'am," said Franklin.

Travis read the console in front of him, staring at the screen. "Ma'am, it looks like the cargo ship is going to go to warp."

"Hold our position, Mr. Mayweather." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Ensign Franklin, can you target the vessel's engines?"

Before he could answer, a communication broke through. Lt. Baral began, "Baral to Sub-commander. They're aboard." In the background, she heard blood-curdling screams; the voice sounded like Captain Archer's. She knitted her brows together as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end at the noise.

"Acknowledged." Before she could react, she watched the main screen display the cargo ship go to warp and speed away.

"Should we chase, Sub-commander?" asked Mayweather.

"Negative. Take us out of tactical alert, Ensign Franklin."

"Aye." Franklin went back to the station and pressed a few buttons.

"Mayweather, set a course back for the planet Ve'ral. I would like to continue our cultural exchange with the Ve'ralans. Warp 3."

"Yes, ma'am." Travis began to move his hands across the navigational area. When he stopped she looked in his direction.

"Ensign Mayweather," she raised her voice. "You have the bridge."

She ran her fingers along the captain's chair thoughtfully, wishing to pursue or worse, target the ship. But she knew it was illogical. Her first priorities were the ship and its crew. She was also trying to save the humans and Vulcans from a diplomatic incident with the Klingons. Inclining her head, she clasped her hands behind her back and strolled into the turbolift.

As T'Pol entered Sickbay, she saw Captain Archer -- clothes torn, bruised, bleeding and screaming. Dr. Phlox and Lt. Reed forced the man down onto the biobed, latching the restraints around him, as Archer continued to squirm, making it impossible for them to continue.

"Now, Captain Archer," Phlox reasoned. "We need to put these on … it's really to keep you from hurting yourself."

"No!!!!" Archer yelled, his voice strained so loudly it cracked as he arched his back against the restraints.

Dr. Phlox quickly reached for a hyposray, jabbing it into his neck. Archer bucked like a wounded animal, thrashing his body. His weary voice stopped yelling, but he continued to struggle under the binding around his arms and legs.

Phlox stepped back and nodded as if impressed. "At least the screaming has stopped," he noted to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Vulcan looking on. "Sub-commander, may I have your assistance?"

"Certainly," she said, walking toward Archer and pushing him easily down to the bio-bed. As she touched him, waves of emotion crashed against her. The emotions were erratic; she couldn't distinguish most of them, but recognized they were abrasive and forceful. Her hand continued to press into Archer's chest as she ignored the disturbing images and thoughts.

The one thing she was able to glean was unsettling: the captain was in immense physical and mental pain.

As Archer continued to wiggle around, Phlox prepared another sedative and injected him. This time the captain went completely limp, sinking into the bio-bed. T'Pol felt his mind go quiet and removed her hand from his chest.

Lt. Reed glanced at T'Pol and then back at his captain, giving his report. "When we reached him, the Klingons had him in a rather large, steel contraption with some sort of whirling device." He paused. "I've never seen one before."

"The Klingon disruption chamber," she said. She paused, staring at Phlox. "It is used as a device for torture."

Dr. Phlox's head and shoulders jerked. "I guess these bounty hunters are getting more ... resourceful." Disgust spread across his face.

T'Pol remained silent. Both she and Lt. Reed insisted Captain Archer refrain from joining away missions since the incident with the Tellarite bounty hunter. He was putting himself, and possibly his crew, in great danger. Indeed, they were lucky the Klingons were only interested in the captain … this time. Undoubtedly Reed and perhaps the others may have become criminals of the Klingon Empire.

She whispered, "Humans have never been subjected to the disruption chamber. It has been known to cause insanity in even Vulcans." She looked over at Archer sleeping peacefully and noted his vital signs on the control above his head.

Phlox agreed, "The activity in his cerebral cortex is above normal for a human. His thought patterns seem … inconsistent." The Denobulan was visibly shaken that someone would willing torture another being.

T'Pol ordered, "Lt. Reed, I would like your full report of the incident by 0800 tomorrow."

"Right." He waited for a moment and then continued. "What's the status of the cargo ship?"

"After your team and the captain were transported aboard, they engaged their warp drive. Rather than follow its trace, I decided to continue back to Ve'ral to continue our cultural exchange."

"But, what about the Klingons?" Malcolm asked. It wasn't like Lt. Reed to question orders.

"Thanks to you and your security team, Captain Archer is aboard Enterprise. The captain is now in grave and perpetual danger. Finding and disposing of one or two of these Klingons will not help him in the future. And, although I doubt Commander Tucker and the away team are in any danger, I would like to ensure their safety. They are now our first priority."

He agreed, "Sorry. I ..."

She interrupted him, adding softly, "No explanation is necessary. You're dismissed."

Lt. Reed nodded and walked out the door.

She punched the intercom button in sickbay. "Ensign Korsch, get me Commander Tucker on the surface."

"Tucker here."

She could hear noises in the background as she said, "We have located and retrieved the Captain."

"God, that's a relief!" He paused -- he could tell something was up. "Alright, so how bad's he hurt?" he asked over the baying animals behind him on the desert-like planet.

"He is not well, but he is sleeping. We will report his condition as we find out more information."

"Keep me updated, will ya?"

"Of course," she continued. "We will in Ve'ral's orbit by 1400. Is everything … progressing sufficiently?"

Trip let out a sigh and continued with less gusto. "Yea. We managed to get the supplies we need. Cutler, Sato and I have been asked to attend some kind of banquet so we can errrr ... swap stories."

"I know the captain would want you to continue your mission."

"Sub-commander, keep an eye on him, will ya?" he asked.

She responded, "I will keep both eyes on him. T'Pol out."

Dr. Phlox had completed tending to Archer's worst wounds, as he walked out from behind a white curtain. His frown smacked both sides of his Denobulan face. "I was able to stop his internal bleeding. However, he still has several broken bones. His body went into shock a while ago. He's sustained three broken ribs, a broken nose, deep lacerations across his back, arms, face and legs, a dislocated shoulder, contusions on his face and arms ...." His voice rose suddenly, "There was no need for this. No reason. No reason!"

She had rarely seen the doctor this upset. Although he was emotional, he was usually … jovial.

She replied, "The Klingons treated him as an enemy of the state, a criminal charged with exceedingly high crimes. In addition, he dishonored the Klingons by escaping. Captain Archer is … as humans would say 'lucky to still be alive.' I am certain the Klingons will now accept him dead or alive."

Phlox noted, "Well, they almost succeeded in killing him. Another day and I think we'd have a very different situation on our hands." He sighed, "As it stands his brain functions are completely abnormal. I would guess he is facing permanent insanity."

The words stung her. Insanity: what Vulcans feared ... yes an emotion.... She thought about his screams and the images of pain flashing through her mind as she mentally touched his – albeit briefly.

She spoke carefully, "I would concur with your assessment. When you requested I help restrain him, I was able to read his thoughts. They were chaotic."

Phlox chimed in, "I'll be able to heal the broken bones, lacerations and internal damage. But, I think he'll need considerable psychiatric help. I think we should take him to Earth. Perhaps his synapses can be mended .…"

"That is currently out of the question, Doctor. Our first priority is the mission and the crew."

Phlox continued pointedly, "If he is unable to recover, what would you suggest we do?"

"After we have retrieved Commander Tucker, Ensign Sato and Crewmen Cutler from the surface, we can return him to Earth." She raised her eyebrow. "In the meantime, I may be able to provide some ... assistance. I can … try to connect with his mind."

Vulcans had never tried this technique on humans; she was uncertain it would work, but few options were available, and she wanted to help her captain.

Phlox spoke quietly, "He may be too far gone."

"When will Archer have recovered enough for me to attempt this?"

"Tomorrow. Possibly," he replied.

T'Pol nodded and left Sickbay, heading back to her quarters to mull over troubling thoughts. As she walked down the hall, she couldn't stop thinking about her own anger. Anger. She felt irritation toward herself for letting Archer go to Ve'ral despite her protestations. She was enraged with the Klingons for torturing him. And, she was upset with Archer for becoming hurt and ill.

When she was a child, she'd learned that a Vulcan diplomat was tried by the Klingons and sent to the disruption chamber. Afterward, he'd been unable to suppress his emotions or use his intellect … and subsequently took his own life. Although there were possibilities to help him, he'd acted without thought or reason.

On Vulcan, suicide rarely happened. In fact, it was seen as illogical. However, she'd thought about the alternatives – death or insanity and concluded insanity was worse. Vulcans treasured reason above all else, even above the suppression of emotions. Depriving a Vulcan of reason would be like depriving a human of oxygen.

Thus her answer was simple: she had to help Archer. He hadn't specifically asked for her assistance, but imagined he wanted to be helped. She believed he wanted to recover.

Her only concern for herself was emotional stability. Pa'nar Syndrome weakened her emotional resilience. Her feelings, like a tide, ebbed and flowed, making it difficult to control. And sometimes these feelings were more than she could bear – they slipped away from her on a daily basis. She doubted the humans noticed. She corrected herself, Captain Archer and the doctor had noticed, but never pointed out her failings.

'But, how can I purge these emotions?' she asked herself.

She remembered Shi'Kar and a sand colored temple that housed students who wanted to rid themselves of emotions. She sighed, realizing she could never go back and complete the Kolinahr, the ritual to purge emotions. Due to her illness and living amongst humans, she might be seen as an outcast. No, she may never be to return home.

Even though she hadn't eaten dinner, she decided the best thing to do was to meditate. She lit a small candle and focused on the point of light, letting the disturbing images that Archer had roaming around in his brain settle and then dissipate.

Chapter Two

The next morning she ate in the Captain's dining room alone. Often she would try to eat in silence as Commander Tucker and Captain Archer chided each other. T'Pol, unlike most Vulcans, understood why humans teased each other – it was to ease social situations or show affection. She had to admit, over the course of two years, she had grown accustomed to this. In fact, she ... enjoyed it. Seeing them in the morning smiling, felt comfortable and familiar. Many routines she now undertook felt comfortable, despite how illogical they were.

She finished breakfast and headed to the bridge – arriving early for her shift. It seemed she always was, but this morning, she was earlier than usual. She felt she needed something to do; she needed to focus on something.

Lt. Reed glanced up from the tactical console. "You're in early Sub-commander. Your shift isn't for another two hours. Couldn't sleep?" When she didn't respond, he added, "I know I have trouble now and then."

Reed was usually quite ... pessimistic, a quality that actually made an excellent officer. After he'd achieved 99% effectiveness, he still seemed disappointed. He would settle for no less than 100% … all the time. Although T'Pol thought the Enterprise's crew was incredibly efficient, very few people could surpass the excellence of the lieutenant.

"I wanted to run a few tests. In addition, I neglected to contact Starfleet about the captain's condition and wanted to review his reports," she mentioned as she entered the Ready Room.

T'Pol had the impression that Lt. Reed was attempting to make small talk. She realized that this was what the crew might miss most of all when Captain Archer was not around – his chattiness.

She noted his books, his chair, his desk and the portal he used to stare at the stars. Without his presence the room felt empty.

After watching the stars stream by, she sat down at his desk and began to dictate a note to Starfleet regarding Archer's condition. Under the current circumstances, she didn't want to speak with Admiral Forest; she was concerned the Vulcan High Command would ask her to leave the ship, turning over command to Tucker. Having problems with the Klingons would certainly make the Vulcans recall her. Although the Vulcans didn't care for Klingons, they'd developed a relationship of tolerance and acceptance. Having Enterprise interfere with this would be a diplomatic issue for Vulcan.

An amusing thought crossed her mind. Vulcans in general tolerated humans. In fact, humans had a likeable quality about them. Vulcans easily saw something of themselves in them -- of course they thought Humans were more childlike, reckless and naive. Klingons, on the other hand, were barely tolerated. Their love of violence was repulsive, not to mention their poor hygiene and manners.

After finishing her brief summary -- she was currently in charge of Enterprise, as Captain Archer had become briefly 'incapacitated,' a lie -- she transmitted the confidential message to Starfleet.

Hour slipped away as she took care of mundane ship's business, when she realized it was almost noon. She sauntered out of the office and onto the Bridge.

"Lt. Reed, you have the Bridge."

Chapter Three

When she reached Sickbay, she's illogically expected to see Archer sitting up, smiling at her. Instead the mood in the medical facility was somber. Archer had a bandage wound around his chest, his eyes were both covered with dark circles and his nose was swollen. He had cuts on running along his cheeks, jaw, arms, chest .... She decided it was best to not think about it, nor catalog all the physical damage done to the man.

"Good morning, Sub-commander. I trust you slept well?" asked Phlox, beaming.

"Yes," she said. She knew Phlox enjoyed polite conversation. "And you?"

He smiled more broadly. He pointed to the things that looked like a human version of bats. "Well, the ghlormas, if you must know, kept me up most of the night. It seems they are mating. Unfortunately, I was sold three males and two females. So the males are fighting quite a bit. In fact, you can see even now they are ...."

T'Pol made a mental note. 'Do not make polite conversation with Dr. Phlox.'

He finally ended abruptly when he saw her continuing to stare at Archer's injuries. Phlox spoke gently, "His health is improving. He's responded well to the various treatments I've given him."

"That is good to hear," she mumbled.

"He still screams from time to time, though. It's … unnerving. I've given him an extremely powerful sedative and conducted several scans of his cerebral cortex. He still has abnormal brain activity and has been unable to speak."

She nodded. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she again thought of the Vulcan diplomat who committed suicide.

Almost reading her mind, Phlox asked, "Are Vulcans afraid of insanity?"

She was startled internally, but stared at him with stoicism. "Vulcans are never afraid …."

"I looked into the Vulcan database last night to research the mind-link you talked about."

"It was in the database?" T'Pol asked.

"Not specifically. It did mention there are two links – a touch link that mostly involves surface emotions and a deeper mental melding of the minds.  For some Vulcans who have tried this deeper meld, it has ended in their own insanity." He continued, guarded, "If you conduct this, there is a small chance you too will become mad."

"The chance is minute …."

He interrupted, "Minute, yes, but there."

"If I sense he is drawing me in, I will discontinue."

"All the same, I'd like to monitor both of you during your meld."

She began to protest, but could see the doctor's concern. "Very well."

Phlox seemed satisfied and gathered a few pieces of equipment and waved them in front of T'Pol. He gave a brief nod, indicating she could begin the experimental process.

She leaned over Archer. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. To ease into the procedure, she placed her hand on his forearm. It jerked, without any noticeable response from the captain – his eyes were still closed. Her fingers of her right hand tapped along the side of his face to his temple and she called softly.

"Captain?"

Chapter Four

She fell into his mind easily, like slipping into a meditation. But, unlike meditation, chaotic images were flung at her, frightening her. Along with the disorder of thought was the tsunami of emotions – raw emotions – threatening to drown her. She felt anger, disgust, pain, grief, sorrow, hopelessness, despair and so many others beyond description. His mind was screaming, out of control. His thoughts were complete bedlam.

She tried to sort through the images, taking each one and analyzing it. The disruption chamber – she saw the torture device; it was crude, unsanitary and steel. She noted the Klingons were mocking his pain and agony, delighting in the idea of giving him more. A vision of Archer – bloody and bruised, trying not to break – came before her eyes. His shirt was splattered with red stains as they beat him. It seems they didn't care whether he was barely alive when he reached Qo'nos, as long as he lived.

She reached out to Archer's mind, "Show me your pain. I can help you."

Confusion stormed her mind and a curtain fell in front of her, as if he was barring her entrance or probing.

"You need me," she said. "Allow me to assist you." Her fingertips worked their way along his temples as she extended a mental bridge, probing deeper.

Although his thoughts were unorganized and untidy, she began to denote patterns in his thinking. Her mind reached out to his, helping to put order to his thoughts. As images of Klingons and a ship came to mind, she realized he was showing her his memories.

She saw two large Klingons leading the captain into the bowels of dank ship. They eventually stopped at a darkened box of a room – like a cell -- that was surrounded by windows. The larger guard shoved Archer into it and forced him onto a black, steel bed. T'Pol thought the bed looked like something from the movie she had seen once with Captain Archer – Frankenstein's bed, but was tilted so that the victim could stand.

The Klingons strapped in his arms, legs and chest. A large, black helmet-like device was placed directly over his head, but not directly on it. The helmet had a fan-like contraption. One of the guards grinned and he stuffed something in Archer's mouth; the captain surmised it was probably something like a mouth guard – something that would prevent him from swallowing or biting his tongue.

"This will shut you up," joked one the Klingons, bearing his gnarled teeth, leaving the room and traipsing off into a control room only a few feet away.

Archer could barely turn his neck, but could see the Klingons clearly. They hunched over some controls as a whirling sound began to hum overhead. His head jerked back and his eyes fluttered. His body convulsed as jolts of electricity stung every part of his body. The helmet and fan-like device shot out sparks of blue shocks aimed for his brain and his mind began to reel as flashes of images being shown to him. The helmet was manipulating his mind by stimulating regions of his brain, forcing images and thoughts to the surface.

Archer wasn't sure which hurt worse, the images being dragged and coerced to the surface or the current ranging through his entire body. All he knew is that his head throbbed and his eyes shot open at the extreme pain; his mind was being ripped apart like a tin can. A bright light flared behind his eyes. He was unable to think – the pain. The pain was intense and severe that his brain seemed like it was splitting apart. He barely even heard laughter from the control room.

T'Pol noticed the shocks were aimed at specific regions of Archer's brain, exciting nightmares brought on by the mind control machine.

Archer stood up from his command chair as he looked around the Bridge. His crew seemed to be busily working; he noted T'Pol staring into her scanner. He wondered why he'd jumped up from his chair and sat back down with uneasiness. His head was bothering him; definitely more than a mild headache. He'd see Phlox later for a remedy. As he stared at the view screen, he wondered what planet they were orbiting. Why couldn't he remember?

"Captain, we are receiving a hail from an approaching ship," said Hoshi.

"Use the universal translator," ordered Captain Archer, his head feeling like it was on fire. Hoshi nodded, indicating he could continue. "This is Captain Archer of the starship Enterprise. Our mission is ...."

"Surrender," said the metallic voice back to him. Archer had heard the voice before, but couldn't place it.

Lt. Reed interrupted, "They are charging their weapons, sir."

"Polarize hull plating. Charge weapons."

"Aye, sir," agreed Reed.

The Enterprise was hit, knocking all Bridge personnel to the floor and powering off the lights. Archer looked around hurriedly.

"Status?!" he yelled.

Sparks interrupted his query as conduit unfastened itself from the ceiling over by the communications station. Hoshi ... he thought. He heard her moaning for help.

"Phlox to the Bridge. Medical emergency," he said into his comm.

"Captain, we are critically damaged. Engineering and Sickbay are affected. Decks C, D and E have hull breeches," said T'Pol. "Emergency bulkheads have failed."

"Weapons are offline." Lt. Reed said, "We can't return fire."

"Phlox to the Bridge. My hands are full here. Engineering had significant casualties," said the doctor gravely.

"Commander Tucker?" asked Archer.

"Perished," whispered Phlox.

Archer fell into his seat.

"Reports are coming in from all over the ship. Casualties are estimated at 65, " indicated T'Pol.

"We have a crew of 83," he mumbled to himself. He ran to the communications area. "This is Captain Archer. We'd like to ..."

The ship was hit with another blast. T'Pol's was thrown from her station. Her face was unrecognizable under the mass of green blood. Archer at communications was sprayed with the green goo and felt it running down his cheek. He felt sickened, but ran over to her lifeless body and grabbed her wrist to take her pulse. As he reached his fingers wrapped around her arm, he could see her eyes were wide open, and she was no longer breathing.

He turned around to screams behind him. Malcolm's body was on fire -- the entire tactical station was destroyed in an inferno. The navigational systems had also caught on fire and Mayweather's body was ablaze. Archer knew neither man was alive. The smell of burning flesh was making the captain more nauseated.

The Bridge was melting from the heat. Archer's head felt like it was going to explode. "Archer to Phlox?"

He was met with silence.

"Phlox, this is the captain," bellowed Archer.

Silence.

"Archer to anyone?" Silence again. He walked to the turbolift, pressing the button eagerly. When nothing came, he realized it was jammed. Jammed? He was unable to exit. His stomach lurched as the acrid smell of smell Mayweather and Reed's burning flesh loomed in the air. His body wracked with pain.

As the nightmare came to a close, Archer heard his own voice cry out and woke up to Klingon laughter. The device had been turned off – slowing the fan above his head until it came to a halt. Archer's brain felt on the verge of blowing up and he strained his neck to vomit onto the floor, purging his empty stomach. He took deep breaths trying to avoid further nausea, as he tried to piece together what just happened.

One of the Klingon guards sauntered up to him. "Do not fear, Archer. We should have you to Qo'nos soon where you will die."

Archer realized he had to look forward to another few weeks of this. He puffed out his chest. "I wouldn't be so certain. I've escaped before."

Jon wasn't intending to bait him, but he couldn't give up. He'd met Captain Duras before, and saved a group of weary travelers fleeing from him and the Klingon Empire. This act had caused Archer to be convicted of Klingon treason, sentenced to Rura Penthe (where he escaped) and had caused dishonor to the Duras family. All of these made him a marked man.

"Son of a ma-tagh," growled the Klingon. "Our cousin is a Duras. You have disgraced us … I wouldn't be so arrogant if I were you."

The Klingon took his fist and ground it into Archer's nose. Jon could hear a snap, knowing his nose was broken, and felt blood gush down his face. The Klingon laughed. "Your species is pathetic."

Trying to keep the liquid from reaching his mouth, he spat it on the floor, as the other Klingon laughed.

The two continued to punish him. After all, he was restrained in the chamber; there was nothing he could do. He felt his collarbone move. A couple of punches in the stomach made him spit up more blood. He was losing consciousness. As he blacked out he heard, one of them say, "Ka'thar, I think the Klingon Empire would be proud."

T'Pol shook herself free, breaking contact with Archer.

Phlox scanned her. "Your heart rate is up considerably, as is the captain's."

"They seemed to enjoy torturing him," she mentioned, visibly shaken.

Phlox sighed, "We knew as much. Do you think you can reach him?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath, determined to locate him. She gathered up her strength and attempted the mind link again, calling his name again.

Chapter Five

He sluggishly woke up. He tried to recall how many days had gone by; he wasn't sure, but thought it was at least three. He touched his face and realized it had a full beard. Maybe four days had passed, maybe more. He glanced around his cold, dark cell with a sigh. He hoped he would be able to outlast the Klingons, but his body ached. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.

"Get up!" growled the taller Klingon.

Archer stood up slowly. It was very hard to breathe now.

"Hungry?"

Archer nodded.

"That's a shame. Because we're all out of food," he said as he ate a piece of meat that smelled as if it were rotting.

Archer felt ill at the sight and odor, but managed to keep it down.

"Want something to drink?"

Archer gave a thoughtful nod. He was so thirsty, like the time he and Trip were on the sand-covered planet and they'd both run out of water.

One of the Klingons threw water on the floor. "Enjoy!" They began howling with joy.

Archer looked at the two and managed to stand taller. "You don't want me to die before we get to Qo'nos, do you? That wouldn't look too good to the Klingon Empire, would it?" Their laughter died down. He grew serious and stated, "I need water."

"But, we gave you some, Archer. You're just not drinking it." One said merrily.

"I'm not going to drink that. I'd rather die."

For some reason the argument held merit with the guards. The shorter, stockier one, Ka'nath, held out a mug. "Here. It's called Bloodwine."

Archer grabbed the mug and drank the mixture. He knew it was alcoholic. He thought perhaps he could use it as an antiseptic.

"See if you can take our drink," growled the other Klingon.

Archer drank deeply with what appeared to be satisfaction. The Klingon stared him in the eyes and bared his teeth. "You will get no favors from us," hissed Ka'thar.

"We will come back for you in two hours for your treatment. I would rest if I were you," added Ka'nath. They stormed off.

Archer knew, unlike bounty hunters, he couldn't reason with these two. As loyal Klingons and cousins of a Duras, they were obliged by family and honor to bring him in. He knew because of the familial connection, they took pleasure out of watching him suffer.

Jon dipped his finger into the alcohol, placed it on some of his cuts and winced. The alcohol stung, but he needed it – a few of his wounds were beginning to become infected. After all, Klingons weren't known for their hygiene. Case in point: a Klingon version of a rat had been crawling around for the past few days, as well as other parasites. He tried not to think about it as he continued to dab the Bloodwine to his wounds.

He mused that all Klingon vessels seemed to be equipped with well-made jails. Archer wondered if that was because there were too many criminals, or too many biased judges, as he had encountered. It seemed escaping would be difficult, if not impossible.

As he dabbed at his wounds, he tried to keep his spirits up. He thought about Enterprise and its crew. T'Pol and Reed had probably picked up the Klingon vessel's warp signature by now and had been tracking him. Sub-commander T'Pol and Lt. Reed were two of the finest officers Archer had ever served with. 'Surely they'd have the trail by now,' thought Archer.

Vulcans. There were times Archer saw the benefits of not having emotions. He smiled wryly and thought about his current predicament. His mind caught something T'Pol had told him; Vulcans have emotions, they just suppress them. They really weren't so different. Not really. Archer suppressed his feelings often, as did most humans. He wished he suppressed his own more often, like restraining his enthusiasm for joining away missions, especially when two of his senior officers (Lt. Reed and T'Pol's) advised him not to. Archer just couldn't stand the idea of not exploring, seeing new worlds; that was the reason he joined Starfleet. Going on away missions to planets that could sustain humanoids was a captain's privilege; at least, that's how Jon saw it. He did think that if he made it off the cargo ship ... no, when he made it off the ship ... he would try and follow their advice more often.

Ka'nath came back early. "Get up!"

He stood up. Jon knew the drill by now: step away from the door with his hands behind his back and wait for the shackles to be placed on his ankles and wrists. As he began to move, Archer noticed something different. He didn't see the other Klingon, Ka'thar. His mind raced, figuring out his next move. Whatever he'd do, he'd need to do it fast.

He turned around with his back toward the door. As Ka'nath began to cuff him, Archer kicked his legs out from under the guard. The Klingon fell hard to the ground and Jon made it past the cell and closed the door behind him. Running with all his remaining strength, he headed toward the area that held an escape pod. He could tell one of his legs was severely injured; his top speed was definitely hindered. In addition, his ribs were battered and possibly broken, which labored the effort. One corridor led to another; he was amazed – he was going to make it. With the escape pod in sight, he felt a bat'leth slicing open his back; fortunately the wound was meant to disarm, rather than kill. As Archer fell to the floor, he landed squarely on his shoulder, dislocating it.

"Stupid," grunted Ka'nath. "You'll pay for that. No food for two days." Archer was writhing in pain.

Ka'nath saw Archer treating his left arm gingerly and decided to pick him up by it. Archer screamed as the Klingon said, "It's time for your treatment, Captain."

The human was dragged down the hallway and eventually locked into the restraints on the upright bed. A high-pitched whine squealed overhead. He closed his eyes as his mind began to itch and he felt his mind lose control. Maybe he'd get through this by thinking of his father, he wondered.  He'd heard from T'Pol that Vulcan meditation focused on pleasant events, especially during trauma.

"Jonathan! I gotta tell ya something," yelled a slender man, about 5'11, balding with dark hair, staring up the stairs of a modern San Francisco house.

A sixteen year old, sandy-haired boy with bright green eyes stood bare-chested at the top of the stairs, toweling his hair dry. He tossed his towel down haphazardly and threw a shirt over his arms, buttoning it.

"Coming, Dad," said the young man. He looked almost identical to the Archer at 42, except his hair was more blonde, his skin more tan and he was a little under six foot. The boy also had more of a swimmer's build – muscular and powerful, even for a male his age.

Jon reached the bottom of the stairs. His voice had a higher timbre to it; "Got my camping gear all ready to go." He combed his hand through his shoulder-length hair.

"Son, before your next swim meet, you know you're going to need to get that mane cropped," said Henry ruffling his son's hair.

Jon rolled his eyes, fending off the light-hearted assault. He glanced around the room for a minute. "Where's your gear?"

"Uhm, about that," said Henry. He scratched his jaw and looked toward his feet. "You and the fellas are going to have to go without me. Lt. Forrest and I have to review the specs of the engine I'm building. Seems the Vulcans are concerned about a few things."

"They're always concerned about a few things," quipped Jon.

"Yeah, well … I'm sure they're just trying to help," suggested Henry. "You know how precise the Vulcans are."

"The Vulcans. The Vulcans!" The young man threw his hands up in the air. "You never go camping with me anymore."

His father sighed, "I promise one day real soon you and I will both go." Henry Archer reached a hand to his shoulder.

The boy shrugged it off. "That's what you said last time. Remember?" He saw his father's pained face and continued, "That was only last month."

"Listen, Jon. I'm doing this because I have to. Don't you want to someday explore the stars?"

Jon didn't say anything. His lips were taut with disappointment.

"I want to see you travel. I want to build something that makes going to other galaxies possible. I'm sorry, Jon. I'm not doing this to hurt you, I just need to finish this project." He squinted and whispered, "The engine – we're so close."

Archer threw down his towel. "You don't go to my basketball games. You don't see my track meets. You haven't been to any of my swim practices. The science fair has come and gone. Nothing. Nothing! You haven't been to anything of mine all year." He glared at his father. "You know what? Why don't you just not bother to schedule anything at all. Your stupid engine will take forever and will always take precedence over me. Maybe the Vulcans are right about the engine anyway."

His mother stormed out of the kitchen. "Did I just hear you speak like that to your father, young man?!"

"He doesn't care about us anymore! Why shouldn't I talk to him that way?"

"Oh, no! No you don't. He cares about us – you and me. If you weren't so stubborn you'd see that!" She scowled at him. "You've let me down, Jonathan Archer."

Henry's voice softened. He placed his hand on Jon's shoulder again and said. "Soon. I'm only asking for a little more time. We're close. Too close." His hand fell off Jon's shoulder. He pushed his glasses back on to his face and looked over his boy in concern.

Jon's mother began, "We knew when he joined the space program it would mean a lot of time. A lot of time. Remember? Besides, most teenagers would be excited their parents weren't attending a camping trip with them and their friends."

Jon looked into his father's eyes as Henry spoke, "Son, it's all arranged. Mike's dad will take you guys to the usual spot." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."

His mother glared. "Who wouldn't want to have a dad that built the first warp five engine, huh?" she asked. Her hazel eyes beating down on him. It was obvious she thought Jon was being a brat and testing her authority.

"Whatever," he mumbled. He could tell his mother was visibly upset. His father, on the other hand, was devastated. He could see the sadness in his large blue eyes. Deep down, Jon knew his father wanted to come with him. And, Jon just wanted to be with his dad. That's all he'd wanted for some time – just to spend time with him. It seemed he'd always play second fiddle to an engine that didn't work. He just hoped one day, it would.

His mother looked out the window, noting the shuttle parking in the front. "They're here, Jon." She began waving. "Please don't get into any trouble with Mike. And, we'll see you on Sunday." She kissed his cheek.

As Jon left, he looked back and saw his dad waving out the window. He decided not to wave back. In fact, he glowered at his father, turned his head and stalked forward.

Chapter Six

T'Pol broke the link. She felt completely drained. This last scene seemed real. It had come to the surface quite easily, just as easily as the one before, but this one had an ounce of truth to it. She thought it interesting how human children behaved. On the one hand, he loved his father. On the other, he seemed to want to test every decision his parents made and showed contempt for them. This would never happen on Vulcan. She was not loved openly, nor did she disobey any command her parents had given her; it was unthinkable to question their authority.

She also noted the early prejudice Jon might have had to Vulcans in general. She inclined her head, lost in thought, as Dr. Phlox returned to Sickbay.

"T'Pol?" Phlox seemed excited she was done. "How are you feeling?"

"Feeling?" She understood this was not aimed at her emotions. "Weak." She stood up, causing her head to swim slightly. She shook off the feeling.

"Sub-commander, I'd like to take a few scans of you."

"I need to contact Commander Tucker."

Phlox irritatedly waved his hand toward the wall unit. "Go ahead."

She punched the comm. "Sub-commander T'Pol to Ensign Korsch, contact Commander Tucker."

"Tucker here."

She got right to the point. "You asked me to inform you about the captain. He is still unconscious. His broken bones, lacerations and contusions seem to be healing well. His mind, however has been … affected." She paused again. "We are not sure of the consequences at this point."

"What are you sayin'?"

"Dr. Phlox believes his mental state is … fragile. The reality is that Captain Archer might face insanity. We are, however, attempting ... various treatments... to assist …."

"Insanity?! You telling me the captain has lost his marbles? Is he going to be able to command Enterprise again? Is he …"

She interrupted, "Please, Commander. We don't know any more at this time, but I thought you would like to be kept apprised."

"Well, I appreciate you lettin' me know."

"Have you been able to secure the supplies we need and attend the banquet?"

He sighed, "Yup. Got everything we need and then some. We'll rendezvous with the Enterprise at 1900 tomorrow. Cutler wants to take some additional scans of the flora and fauna 'round here."

"Acknowledged. I will hear from you then." She paused. "Fly ... safely."

Trip let out a guffaw. "Yes, ma'am."

"Phlox, I'll be in my quarters."

He began scanning her anyway. "You temperature is higher than usual, as is your blood pressure. I'm glad you're heading to your quarters. I'm ordering you to stay there all day tomorrow. I'll arrange to have food sent to you."

She thought about contradicting him, but decided he was right. She acquiesced, giving him a quick nod.

T'Pol walked down the corridor back to her cabin and stepped into her room. Before she lit her meditation candles, she pressed the comm.

"Sub-commander T'Pol to Lt. Reed."

"Reed here. Go ahead, ma'am."

"Commander Tucker and his away team will rendezvous with us tomorrow at 1900. Please send him the coordinates."

"Understood." He paused only briefly. "How's the captain?"

"His condition has not changed." She paused. "Lt. Reed, I neglected to compliment you on how you rescued the captain. You should be commended. I've already entered your commendation into the ship's logs."

Stunned silence rang out on the other end. Lt. Reed began saying with overwhelming joy, "Thank you immensely. I will continue to work hard. I'm only sorry he was compromised in the first place."

She knew he felt guilt over not being able to convince Archer to stay aboard. "You recommended he stay on the ship."

Again he sounded pleased, "Thank you."

"Dr. Phlox has ordered me to stay in my cabin tomorrow. I will be unable to attend the bridge. Inform me if you need any assistance. Until then, you have the Bridge."

"Yes, ma'am."

She thought that went well. She couldn't deny there was a void when Archer wasn't on the ship. The crew enjoyed hearing his compliments about their work and most likely relished the small talk humans and Dr. Phlox were so fond of. Although she thought it was illogical, she did see the logic in assuming this role on his behalf. She'd doubted Reed would be able to save the captain without injuring the Klingons or causing further diplomatic problems. Reed had retrieved him without a shot being fired; his strategy had been well executed.

She also acknowledged that Commander Tucker had secured all supplies needed, and maintained the cultural exchange in Archer's absence. She knew he'd be pleased if … no … when he woke up. Although it was illogical for her to suppose he would regain consciousness, she felt there was that possibility. She remembered her interaction with Lt. Reed and decided to remain optimistic.

She took a deep breath and lit her candles. She began to meditate, focusing on the flame.

Chapter Seven

T'Pol dropped in on Archer almost once a day to continue searching his mind for a week. And, Dr. Phlox had continued to insist on scanning her while she conducted the meld. The images she received from Archer's mind were still chaotic and his mind continued to be unresponsive. She knew she would have to probe deeper and inwardly trembled at the thought. Her emotions were more on the surface now than before. She walked into Sickbay again, at the same time as usual with a sense of dread.

Phlox smiled. "Good morning, Sub-commander. How are you?"

"I am well." She remembered his long-winded responses to her questions, and decided to allow the doctor to enjoy recounting whatever tale he undoubtedly wanted to tell.

"And you?" she asked, after a moment of silence.

He grinned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Outstanding! I have just finished reading the most interesting article about the Alrmorians. Did you realize they are hatched? I had no idea. Their mothers can lay almost 200 hundred eggs. Unfortunately, they all do not live. Only one out of these 200 survive. Imagine the odds?"

"Indeed."

Phlox noted T'Pol seemed to be interested in his conversation this morning. Although Vulcans were known for their patience, he suspected that sometimes Sub-commander T'Pol was thinking about other things while he spoke to her. Of course, he couldn't confirm it ….

He continued sadly, "I've noticed no improvement in the captain's condition."

She shook her head. "Neither have I."

Phlox offered her a seat on one of the stools in his area. "Then when are you going to give up?"

That was a question she had not considered. "I am unsure. It has only been a week. I will most likely discontinue ... when I know he has been reached. Or, when I know he is unreachable."

"For the sake of the crew, I suggest that when we reach Earth, we give up. We can have someone watch over him until that time." He hesitated before delivering his thoughts, "It's not good on the crew's psyche to know their captain is incapacitated."

"I have spoken with Admiral Forrest. We are still approximately a month away. I am ... concerned about how the Vulcan High Command will respond."

"You haven't told them about this incident?"

"No." She looked at Archer. "They would assign me elsewhere."

"Just because there is a change in command?"

"The entire incident would cause concern. Vulcan is on shaky diplomatic ground with the Klingons already. This incident, especially if I approved his safe return, would cause various issues for my government. They should not be informed. I have already asked for the Admiral's confidentiality."

Phlox looked on with surprise. "So when are you going to transfer command to Mr. Tucker? I assume that's the appropriate protocol."

"Admiral Forrest and I have not yet discussed that eventuality. Besides, I am the captain's First Officer until that title is revoked or resigned."

"Perhaps you should talk with the admiral about it soon."

"Perhaps." She seemed unsettled. "In the meantime, I would again like to continue my meld with your patient."

Dr. Phlox nodded. He reached for his scanner. "Proceed, Sub-commander."

Chapter Eight

T'Pol fell into Archer's mind easily, like she was welcomed. Again, the thoughts and images on display were erratic and confusing. She weeded through the chaos searching for clarity, and caught a fragment as it drifted by.

The scene unfolding in his mind seemed much later; she hypothesized it was most likely right before he was rescued. Archer had grown a significant beard and his physical condition was deplorable. His eyes were crusted over with puss, causing him to barely be able to see. Some of his wounds were infected, including his nose, which had swollen easily to nearly twice its original size. His limbs were weak, his stomach was empty and his mind was feeble.

By this time, the Klingons had decided to leave him in the chamber all day, every day. Archer hadn't had anything to drink in a day, and nothing to eat for possibly a few days.

"Ka'nath, I have a new game," said the Klingon.

"Really?" asked Ka'nath taking a swig from his mug.

"Yes."

"Let's just let the torture device run for the remainder of his stay here. Qo'nos is only a week away and I grow weary of his incessant talking."

His head hadn't stopped hurting since his arrival. He actually preferred the physical pain to sharp shocks inside his head that forced images out of his brain … and he would do anything to stop them from turning on the device … even beg.

"Excellent idea, Ka'thar."

The whirling device began and all hell broke loose in Archer's mind. He'd been trying to focus, but was having trouble doing so all day, everyday. He tried to ignore the powerful visions … visions that included unspeakable things and acts. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the machine went off again.

Ka'thar smiled, "I think he's beginning to like it."

"Want another treatment?" asked Ka'nath.

Archer shook his head slowly. He was unable to see clearly and his ears were ringing. 'Stay focused,' he told himself.

"I can't hear you," said Ka'thar.

"No."

Ka'nath widened his smile. "Say – no, sir.'"

Archer let it come out too easily, "No, sir."

Ka'thar laughed, "Plead with us to stop."

They began laughing again. "Plead," they insisted.

"Go to hell," slurred the captain.

"Well, I guess he wants another treatment," said Ka'thar.

"No!" he insisted.

"Tell me what I want to hear, human," said Ka'thar, cruelly.

"Don't do this."

Ka'nath's growled, "Tell me what I want to hear!"

"No," Archer whimpered.

Ka'thar walked away and turned the chamber on again.

The scene began to dissolve, and T'Pol prepared herself for another terrifying dream. Instead, she felt the slight tremor of Archer's mind, pushing her back.

T'Pol was near elation at feeling his mind act. "Captain, please trust me. You must show me what's next."

From almost the blackness, something shouted at her. "No!"

"I am not here to hurt you," she reminded. She probed deeper; she needed to see what had scared him.

"No!"

She projected herself further into his mind, holding out her hand to Archer.

"Take my hand," she instructed.

Again, his mind asked her to leave. She forced her will forward, overpowering him.

Suddenly the scene began to blur. Archer's brain and voice screamed out, as he felt deafened by the device. The pain behind his eyes was overwhelming and his brain felt the sensation of being microwaved. He tried to focus again. "Meditate. T'Pol showed you the technique."

As soon as he said her name, a new onset of images, things he saw in the disruption chamber returned.

The door chimed. "Come in."

T'Pol entered wearing loose-fitting pants and a shirt. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. She understood them to both be off-duty, but wondered why he was in his Ready Room in informal attire. He stood up upon noticing her entrance and immediately began to sweat. His stomach hurt, but his head hurt more.

She came in and placed a PADD in front of him. "I have prepared the reports you requested." Just having her there was comforting.

His mind was so tired, though. He said huskily, "Thanks. I'll read these in the morning." He placed PADD on his desk. He thought he heard a whining sound. He shrugged, must be the floorboards again.

He glanced up, startled that she was touching his face. She ran her hand across his chin. His mind felt peaceful for a moment.

"No," he turned away. "You're unwell or inappropriate; I'm not sure which," he said, furrowing his eyebrows. Maybe they both needed to see Dr. Phlox. Why would she touch him?

She sauntered over and ran her hand down his arm. His mind relaxed. "I can read your thoughts. You are distressed, let me help you."

He turned back toward her. She smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon, and her eyes were dark and mysterious. He began to wring his hands and took another step backward. "Sub-commander, you are dismissed." Again his temples throbbed.

T'Pol reached for his hand. He again felt a wave of serenity. He noticed when she was touching him, he felt better … calmer. But, he couldn't allow it; he was her commanding officer. Archer withdrew his hand and stepped back. "I don't think you heard me, Sub-commander." His body convulsed in pain.

Her voice was seductive, "Jonathan?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. He reached for the communications device on his desk. "Archer to Dr. Phlox." He felt he would pass out. He hoped he would pass out.

"I am not ill," she said, creeping closer to him.

 "No." He lifted a weakened hand to his temple. "Get Dr. Phlox!"

"He can't help you. I can." She touched his shoulders and whispered, "You need me."

His brain blazed and his thoughts lost focus. He didn't want to resist. He wasn't sure what he was doing. Her hands felt warm. He was attracted to her. He was incredibly attracted to her, but it just wasn't appropriate. After all, he was the captain; she was his first officer. She was Vulcan; he was human. His head was beginning to cool. It just couldn't be.

"I don't understand?" asked T'Pol. It was obvious she wasn't thinking about the same thing he was.

 "No." He thought about his career, his father, Starfleet. His will was cracking and his brain was on the verge of exploding. He squinted and cried out.

"Captain?" asked T'Pol.

He pushed her back. "No!" He shut his eyes, falling to the ground.

She kneeled down, raising an eyebrow. "Allow me to help you."

The pain was unbearable; his mind was frying. Thoughts began to pour out of his head. They didn't make sense. They didn't seem real. 'Why did touching her feel so good?' he wondered, grabbing her with a sudden jerk. She stiffened, shocked by his response. He held the back of her head and enveloped her mouth with his, greedily nabbing hers. She did not respond, but he didn't care; his arms wrapped around her and his tongue parted her lips. His mind began to quiet and cool as their tongues met. He was sucking the serenity from her as his hands began to travel up around her waist, tightening his hold on her. He wanted her calm to soothe his soul. He was taking control of her, deepening his kiss.

T'Pol was horrified at this action. Her attempt to throw her image into his mind and cajole the captain into sanity was useless. Instead, Archer seemed insistent on showing her passion and physical affection. Or, was he trying to suck the serenity and calm she emitted, dragging himself into sanity.

His emotions swirled around him; he knew that touching her felt comforting, and he desperately needed comfort. He was consuming her, her own mind was slipping – his thoughts were drowning her, pushing her down, invading her control. Her mind was being lost in his.

She pushed him away, as he snatched her arm. As the connection broke, Archer head the whirling noise grow louder – pounding into his ears and wrapping around his brain. His first officer melted away as the sound deafened him.

He looked around. T'Pol was no longer there. Instead, he heard his own voice pleading, begging for the pain to stop.

As the machine turned off this time, Archer felt completely drained. He sobbed with fear, exhaustion, disgust and remorse, which only prompted his captors to snicker.

As he cried, he contemplated what would happen if they released him from the chamber and shoved him back into his cell. He knew what he had to do; he had to kill himself. No, he'd provoke them to kill him so he wouldn't have to endure this any more. He'd be happy to deny the Klingons the privilege of watching him die and happier still for the pain to subside. He just hoped he could hang on until he could commit this final act. As Jon gathered the strength to curse the guards, Ka'thar mumbled something unintelligible and turned the device back on. Both Klingons left quickly, running from the control room.

As the device sputtered to life, Archer realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Every part of his body was on fire, cooking under the scorching heat of the device. His mind … felt like it was impaled with some sharp object, and that it was twisting and cutting, slicing and gauging memories. God, he couldn't hear anything but the whining stabbing his ear canals. The harder he screamed, the more he felt himself retreat.

Archer slunk down a dark hallway, staggering and crawling away from existence. As the blackness overcame him, the sounds muffled and all he heard was silence.

He was in total darkness.

Chapter Nine

T'Pol flinched. She was extremely disturbed by the last set of images; they were illogical, chaotic … painful. She felt a flash of embarrassment, pity and concern for the man. Suppressing these emotions, she couldn't stop from reaching out to caress his cheek briefly.

Phlox injected, "Are you alright?"

She didn't realize she was trembling.

"I must insist you stop. I've noticed you continue to probe deeper into his mind. You know what could happen; this isn't good for you."

"I am close, but I do need rest. The last image was particularly … unsettling."

He took a scan of her. "Yes, you do need some rest."

"I will meditate in my quarters and come back."

"I strongly advise against continuing."

"I am too close," she said with resolve.

Determined as she was, she was mentally shaken. She headed back to her cabin to meditate. It took longer than normal to fall into the same trance, and even when there, she had disturbing thoughts. She couldn't relax, and ended her nightly ritual.

'Perhaps I need sleep,' she told herself, lying down on her bed.

Rest seemed out of the question. She was very near finding him and bringing him back. All she needed was more focus, resolve and time.

The thought of going into the deepest recesses of his mind made her shudder. She had seen someone, her friend and captain, become mentally unstable. She had seen the events leading up to it and the insanity itself. And yet, she could not understand it. She could not understand how he'd descended into the total darkness.

She pondered, 'Why did I see that last image – our embrace? Had he wanted me to see it?'

As the idea wormed it's way around her brain, she wondered if he was giving her a signal? She sat up, realizing it was impossible to wait. She had to act quickly. 

When she entered sickbay, it was 0100 hours. Dr. Phlox was nowhere in sight.

She walked over to Archer and touched his face, letting her fingertips dance along his temples. She called out to him. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

Chapter Ten

"Captain Archer?" she asked.

Another wave of images flooded her senses. Strong emotions again tried to control her. She let those images pass over her, rather than stopping to look at them, categorize them and sort them. Instead, she let his thoughts carry her to him like waves in an ocean. She focused on a small light at the end of a dark hallway. The hallway seemed to extend out – the closer she got, the longer the hallway seemed.

"Captain?"

Suddenly she saw him sitting down, leaning against a black wall with his legs curled up close to his body. His hands were gathered around his knees and his head hung against his chest. He was wearing a black shirt, black pants and no shoes. He looked innocent and childlike.

"Captain?" she asked in disbelief.

"T'Pol?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied. She loomed over him dressed in her uniform.

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to help you, Captain."

"You've come before," he stated.

"I needed to leave. You were drawing me in …. The image was unsettling. I had to stop before …."

"Before you fell into insanity?" he asked rhetorically. He took a deep breath. "I …."

"Captain?"

His mind seemed unable to distinguish his title. "That's not my name," he corrected.

"I've come back to help you, Jonathan."

"I don't want to go back," he said with large, tearful eyes.

She knelt down by him and took his hand. He was six foot, significantly taller than she, but he seemed so small here. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were large pools filled with turmoil. He was drawn and withered; the lines on his face seemed more pronounced.

"Please. I don't want to go back." His voice was filled with pain.

"Why?"

"I'm … afraid."

"Why?"

"My head ... my head.... I can't focus. I can't think."

She thought of what she saw earlier.

"I don't want you to see my thoughts. Leave me alone," he said, turning away from her.

"Vulcans do not enter melds without permission. I ... thought it best to enter ..." Her voice faltered. "I only wanted to help you."

"You're disturbed by what you saw," he accused.

"Yes. You have suffered greatly." She saw him putting his head to his knees. "You cannot help it. It's not your fault."

He grabbed his hair as if to pull it out. "What else have you seen? What else do you know about me?" He sounded like he was again losing control.

She was beginning to feel like she had indeed invaded his privacy. "I have been using mental shields to prevent me from seeing images you do not want me to see. I have been focusing on finding you, not viewing what you have seen or what has happened to you."

He pulled at his hair.

"What I have seen will remain confidential," she responded.

He had to admit, he didn't want her poking around inside his head, but this wasn't his greatest concern. It was that she had seen him crack ... that he'd seen himself crack. His pride was hurt in ways she didn't know or understand. He'd had survival training, POW training, psyche tests ... but he'd never lost it. He'd always been in control. Now, he felt helpless, which was dangerous for any Starfleet captain. He felt weak and vulnerable. He pitied himself; he disgusted himself.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. She understood some of these emotions, but didn't understand the implications.

"You are not weak. Some Vulcans have not been able to withstand what you have been through."

He weakly smiled, "Hmmm ... that doesn't make me feel any better."

"You have told me many times that you are ... only human. I am certain these feelings you have are not out of the ordinary. You should not rebuke yourself. You handled yourself with dignity. It is the Klingons who did not."

He sighed. He didn't want someone making him feel better. He just wished the event would never have happened. "You and Lt. Reed were right."

She confirmed, "Yes, we were."

Archer smirked. He didn't like hearing she agreed, but he couldn't argue with her.

She realized he couldn't stand, but didn't want to lean on her. "Trust me," she said as he tried to turn away.

He considered it and grabbed her hand. "Walk with me, and focus. Don't look around, just follow me."

His gait was unsteady as he shuffled forward. The man wasn't sure he wanted to leave – it was secure here in the dark and alone. Looking swimming around in his head turned his stomach.

"Don't think. Focus on me. Lean on me," T'Pol insisted.

"The ship, is it okay?" he asked quietly.

She tightened her grip on him. "Yes. Lt. Reed and his men managed to remove you from the cargo ship without any loss of life. Commander Tucker was successful in getting the supplies. Everything, under the circumstances, is normal."

"Normal," he repeated. "It's about time." He asked a question that had been haunting her: "What if you couldn't reach me?"

"I was not prepared to allow that to happen, Jonathan."

Chapter Eleven

T'Pol shuddered and began blinking. She stepped backward as if off-balance.

Dr. Phlox caught her and set her down on the nearest bio-bed. "You did this without my consent. I've been in Sickbay for nearly ten hours, so the link must've lasted longer than that." He could tell she was tired; she had large, dark circles under her eyes. The doctor took his scanner out and began waving it over her.

"Just as I thought. You are considerably low on electrolytes. You haven't eaten in at least two days. You must re-hydrate and ...."

He was cut off as Archer's bio-bed began beeping loudly. Dr. Phlox, stunned, wheeled around grinning. "Captain?"

Archer's eyes opened slowly and looked around.  Dr. Phlox gave him a creepily large smile, "Welcome back to the world of the living!"

If T'Pol looked tired, Archer looked flat-out exhausted.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" he asked.

He tried to say something more, but could only budge out, "Getting there."

Phlox said, "Well, you are showing signs of recovery. You appear to be talking. Yes, I think you've made some major leaps today."

The captain nodded. Phlox could see sadness and pain overwhelm him. He placed a reassuring hand on Archer's shoulder.

T'Pol asked, "I am hungry doctor. Could you bring me some soup?"

He could tell Archer was visibly upset and wanted to give him his dignity. "Oh, yes. I'll ... ahhh ... I'll go and fetch something from the Mess Hall."

"That would be preferable." After Phlox left she looked at Archer.

Archer looked down.

"Jonathan?"

Although he had heard her call his name in his mind, he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard it aloud. He stared up at her.

She began, "You will need assistance determining whether the incidents are – real or not. Phlox and I can help. And some images may not need ... sorting out."

He put his head against the bio-bed. He whispered, "Tired."

She agreed, "Yes, I can imagine you are."

As Dr. Phlox came back with a tray of food, Archer drifted into a fitful sleep.

"Time will tell," Phlox responded. He paused, "But ... you ... should eat this food. I brought plenty of water."

"Thank you."

She began to eat watching over Archer, as the doctor fed his animals.

She finished and strolled out, back to her cabin. She was almost too tired to meditate. She decided to reflect on the day's events tomorrow, laying back on her bed and taking a pillow to her chin.

Chapter Twelve

T'Pol woke up and looked at the clock near her bed, realizing it was later than she expected. She hoarsely called to the bridge. "T'Pol to Lt. Reed."

"Reed here ma'am. May I help you?"

"Yes, I did not realize the time. I ...."

"Dr. Phlox called in this morning and asked that you be taken off the duty roster for the next few days."

Subtlety was one of things she liked best about the doctor. "I see. Thank you. T'Pol out."

Rather than eat breakfast, she took a shower and then walked over to Sickbay.

Archer was awake, sitting up in his bed and viewing a PADD.

She looked at the patient. "Good morning."

Archer found his voice, but seemed shakier than usual. "Hello." He gave a small smile.

She could sense he was still dealing with a lot of emotion that he himself did not understand. Archer seemed to respond to her thoughts, agreeing.

'Odd,' she thought to herself.

She got another sense. She thought she heard Archer ask for water, but he hadn't moved his lips.

Her mind answered back, 'Do you want water?'

"Yes," he whispered aloud.

T'Pol's body shook. How was he able to understand her thoughts, or respond for that matter? It was illogical. Vulcan scientists had proven that mental links with humans were temporary. She poured a glass of water for her captain and handed it to him.

"How are you feeling?"

'Better' he answered in his mind.

"I feel better, thank you," he said aloud. He realized he didn't ask aloud for water. Perhaps he motioned toward it. He felt T'Pol was ... afraid? How did he know?

She raised her eyebrow. "You are making significant progress."

Dr. Phlox returned, scurrying into the room. "Okay, Captain, we have a continental breakfast -- fruit, cheeses and some scrambled eggs." He paused eating a slice of bacon. "Eat your eggs first, they have protein."

Archer nodded, although his stomach felt uneasy. Uneasy? Hell, he felt like a total disaster. He was in a considerable amount of pain; even small smiles managed to hurt the various cuts and bruises he had on his face. His mind was a wreck. He'd shown a side of himself to his first officer that he'd never wanted to unveil. He felt weak. He felt miserable. And the food was making him nauseous.

Almost instinctively T'Pol intercepted the food on Archer's behalf. "Perhaps not so soon." She gave Phlox back the tray.

The doctor thought it odd that she had spoken on the captain's behalf. "Captain?"

Archer shook his head. "No. My stomach …."

Phlox understood the meaning. He then gave Archer a hypospray. "This ought to make you feel better."

Archer swallowed deeply and let out his breath.

"The fact that you can speak at all is thanks to Sub-commander T'Pol."

He smiled as he began drifting off. He seemed to focus easily on what T'Pol was thinking. He expressed his thanks to her, and then decided to say the words aloud. "Thank you."

She thought it strange that he would thank her for the most logical choice, but nodded her head. "You're welcome."

As the doctor gave Archer a check-up, she began to run through a checklist in her mind of her duties. She had left Lt. Reed in charge of the Bridge for much of the entire week. She thought she would need to ask Commander Tucker to take over.

'I'm sure he's fine,' Archer whispered inside his head.

'This link is most likely temporary, Captain,' T'Pol thought.

'Jonathan,' he corrected her.

'Indeed.'

Dr. Phlox was talking for a full two minutes before she realized he had asked a question. She was able to catch the last part regarding leaving his poor patient alone and getting some rest for herself.

"You are correct. Your patient should rest." Although her head hurt, she had no intention of worrying the doctor who undoubtedly would scold her. Instead, she wheeled around and filed out the door.

Phlox turned his attention back to his patient. "Now, Captain, if you think of anything you want to talk about while you're here, please don't hesitate to ask."

Archer nodded.

The doctor felt the need to make small talk. "Porthos has been well-cared for while you were unconscious." He smiled. "I believe Commander Tucker has been taking care of him. He said something about how Porthos was a 'babe magnet,' but I have yet to see how the dog attracts children.

Archer chuckled. He whispered, "I think he means women."

The doctor's head jerked. "Oh. That would explain it." He gave a small chortle. "Of course, I haven't seen him attract a lot of women either. Besides, isn't fraternizing with fellow crewmen against Starfleet regulations?"

Archer nodded. "Yes." He paused and weakly said,  "Especially among officers."

Phlox thought it interesting he brought up officers. "Seems impractical. Didn't you say this was the first vessel that would be away for long periods of time?"

He nodded.

"Then, it seems silly that humans would be unable to continue ... procreation and other habits, including their socializing skills."

"Debatable."

"Where do you stand?"

His brow furrowed and he shrugged, "Don't know."

"You would be unable to fraternize, as you call it."

He nodded.

"Hmmmm ... pity really."

Archer closed his eyes. He knew where this was headed. "Good night." Archer said with his eyes closed.

"You can continue to ignore me, but you know I'm right. Denobulans take their families aboard. Keeps everyone happy."

Archer raised his eyebrows. "Where are they?"

Phlox got the idea. "My families are with their other husbands on Denobula."

"Cutler?"

He squirmed. "I guess you need your rest, don't you, Captain?"

Archer smiled.

Chapter Thirteen

Almost a week had passed. T'Pol had heard more of the things Archer ... Jonathan ... was thinking about. He tried to focus on fond memories -- to bring himself back into good spirits -- but was having great difficulty. She was intrigued to know that one of those was about Enterprise and her. He remembered going with her to the movies – Frankenstein. One of the things he enjoyed most was watching her confused expressions, listening to her audible musings and noting the way she nibbled on 'popped corn.'

T'Pol drank a glass of water. She was amazed at how easily she had established a link with him. He was not as perplexed as she initially thought he would be. On the contrary, he was already beginning to sort through his emotions and the events of the past month.

Something had been bothering her since initiating the meld: Captain Archer attempting to kiss her. Was it possible he was trying to seduce her? She cocked her eyebrow. Was he trying to reach out to her and steal her tranquility? She believed this was more likely; why else would he show this to her? Of course, she had known that he was attracted to her. She could already sense this. But, she understood among humans, they were attracted to those they had no intention of coupling with. Even friends could be attracted to each other. Friends. Something was gnawing at her, as Archer might say.

She sighed. How could this human manage a link? With that, she decided to see him in Sickbay. As she entered, she saw him sitting up, giving her a small smile.

"Sub-commander."

"Captain."

Dr. Phlox entered placing a tray in front of Archer uncovering something the captain had been working up to – eggs and bacon. "Are you hungry?"

Archer didn't respond.

T'Pol noted he'd lost several kilograms during his capture; his face looked gaunt and hollow. 'You need to eat,' she thought.

Archer furrowed his brow and gave a slight nod.

"Excellent. Bon appetit!"

Archer tested his stomach by placing a forkful in his mouth. The result? Success. Like a starved animal, he began cramming food into his mouth.

"When can I return to work?" he asked in between bites.

Phlox guffawed, "Captain, you won't be going back to work for at least another two to three weeks. Your bones haven't completely mended. And, I'd like to ensure your … mental well-being before releasing you."

He seemed disappointed, but gave a slight nod. Sated on half a meal, he pushed his tray back.

T'Pol absent-mindedly watched Archer fiddle with his breakfast as she thought about her daily duties.

Dr. Phlox began speaking to her, "I'm glad you came. I've been wanting to run some tests on you." He walked with her to one of the bio-beds. "How are you feeling?"

Glancing at Archer, she walked out of his hearing range and said, "Distracted, Doctor, which is rare for Vulcans. After my initial mind link with Captain Archer, I have continued to hear his thoughts in my mind. And, he hears mine. It should be impossible ...."

Phlox responded, "Really? Due to the Captain's condition, his brain activity has been heightened. Perhaps I will run some telepathy tests on him later." He saw the concern in her face. "Have you tried to break the link?"

She hadn't realized how much studying he'd been doing. "Yes. I have tried a gentle closure, but it has not worked. I have been … concerned … about a more forceful separation. His mind is still weak."

Phlox nodded. "Hmmm, he does occasionally wake up screaming. Disturbs me and the Rangdons." He pointed to the small, furry animals that had food in their large mouths.

"Vulcan scientists have proven that establishing melds with other non-Vulcan races, especially those with no telepathy, is extremely rare if not impossible." She stopped. "I suppose the scientists were wrong."

"Ahhh, the human brain is amazing. Humans only use around 10% of their brains for communication, basic motor functions, reasoning, etc. The region where telepathy is handled is completely barren. There is usually no activity in that area."

T'Pol nodded.

"On the other hand," he continued. "Humans have that region available for a genetic reason. And there is a theory that more and more humans are becoming able to read thoughts and perform telekinesis and clairvoyance. In fact, more than 15% of humans are born with this ability … that's five times the number recorded 100 years ago."

He took his medical gear out and ran some tests over T'Pol. "That's strange. I'm getting readings on heightened senses. Have you noticed exceptional hearing or any other sensory improvement?"

"Not that I am aware of." Her thoughts drifted away for a moment. Archer closed his eyes and was thinking about his time on the Klingon cargo ship. She saw something that puzzled her; she'd seen it before, but didn't understand it's full impact. Captain Archer was thinking about ending his own life, before they reached Qo'nos. He was thinking how he would do it. He wanted to deprive the people of Qo'nos the satisfaction of seeing him die in public and was had been baiting the Klingons into beating him to death before he was rescued.

She realized Phlox was still speaking and looked up at him. The doctor sighed. "Yes, you are distracted, Sub-commander T'Pol."

"I apologize."

"Were you using your link with the captain just now?"

"Yes. He was thinking about something that happened. It ... caught my attention."

"I thought Vulcans were taught to think several things at once. Isn't it part of the earliest methods of focus?"

"Yes. I cannot explain this. Perhaps the Pa'nar syndrome?"

He frowned. "I'd like you to stay so I can run some tests on you."

She acquiesced. "Of course."

Chapter Fourteen

Over the next day, T'Pol had her blood taken three times, performed various physical tests, mental and psychological, and was scanned six times. Phlox shook his head.

"I cannot let you continue with this link. I'm seeing signs that your illness might be getting worse. I'd like you to close it immediately."

She eyed the other end of Sickbay, staring at Archer for a moment about to protest.

Dr. Phlox added with gravity, "End the link."

Archer agreed verbally, hearing her weigh the decision in her mind. "If Dr. Phlox thinks you should end the link, do it."

Her mouth unhinged as the captain interrupted. "That's an order."

"Very well," she acquiesced.

He added, "Is there something I can do to help?"

"Relax." Her fingertips danced along his temples.

She imagined she was in a boat, pushing away from the dock. But, it seemed moored to the dock. Every time she tried to push away from his mind, she settled back into the link. She felt herself pushing harder and harder, struggling to get free.

With a heave, she tried to launch the boat and flung herself into blackness.

She blinked the haze from her eyes away and saw Archer, dressed in a black shirt and black pants. However, they weren't at the end of a long, dark hall; they were in a large sand-colored temple. Candles were scattered around the room and incense was rising up from almost every location. She noticed she was seated peacefully in the center of the room. Her hands were on her knees with her palms facing up.

"May I help you?" she asked, realizing she was dressed in Vulcan robes.

He shrugged. "Where am I? Why didn't you end the link?"

She looked around. It was obvious that there was no logical explanation for him to bring her here. She must've brought him to this location. T'Pol recognized this as one of the temples at Shi'Kar.

"We are at a temple on Vulcan. I am uncertain why we are here."

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I do not feel ill. My mind feels ... strong and relaxed." She knew this was in sharp contrast to the way she'd been feeling since her initial link with Archer.

"Maybe I can help you," he said. "What's this temple used for?"

"It is a temple for the release and purging of emotions. Vulcans go through this ritual as children, and then as necessary into their adulthood. It is not uncommon for Vulcans to go through this ritual every two years, depending on the emotions that bombard them."

"Purge? I thought you had said that Vulcans only suppress their emotions?" he asked.

"Yes, that is correct. We see this mastery of suppression as a purging of them ... the act of being devoid of emotion."

"You feel emotional?"

She shook her head, but realized it was a lie. "Yes."

He walked to her. He wasn't sure whether he should sit down, or continue to stand.

"What emotion are you feeling?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Guess," he urged her.

"I am incapable of guessing."

"Hypothesize," he clarified with frustration.

"Perhaps whatever this emotion is … is connected to you."

He raised his eyebrows and ran his hand over his jaw. "Pity?" he asked. He could tell she had been, what he would call, feeling sorry for him.

She did feel pity for him. She had ever since he'd been back. "Yes. But, that is not the primary emotion."

"Sadness?"

"Yes." She was sad that he'd subjected to the disruption chamber. She was disheartened that he'd thought about suicide. And whether the Klingons beat him to death at his baiting or he'd starved himself until he perished – that's how he saw it: suicide.

That thought stung. "You've been disturbed by everything I've been feeling lately."

"Yes." She couldn't deny it.

"You're afraid to let me go, as if you think I will bring harm to myself. You're afraid that I'll die, perhaps by my own hand."

She began slowly. "Very few Vulcans do this – commit suicide. It is mostly unheard of."

"Mostly unheard of. But, you know someone who had?" he asked.

"As a child, I learned of a Vulcan diplomat who had undergone torture in the disruption chamber – the device used on you. Afterward, he went insane and died by his own hand." She paused. "He was a relative. My father's brother."

Archer sensed the pain at which that event caused her as her past unfolded for him.

When news had reached her family, her father was embarrassed. Her father was a tall man, who was greener than T'Pol, lanky and sported thick black hair. His eyes were much sterner than hers, and much darker, as if they were completely black.

She was a child of about ten human years. Her hair was longer and her tan was more intense. She was skinny and gangly – mostly legs and arms. Although she had already undergone emotional suppression rituals, she found it hard to fight back tears. She could sense her father's emotion. Rather than comfort his daughter, he reprimanded her.

"You must control yourself. Slarek brought us … disgrace."

"But, father," her voice was softer and much higher pitched. "Disgrace is an emotion." She wiped away her tears and struggled for control.

"Vulcans do not commit suicide." Her father said calmly, realizing he might also lose his hold on his emotions.

"But, Slarek did." She didn't want to debate, she wanted to understand.

"Daughter, speak to no one of this incident. We will keep this a family matter. Bringing this to outsiders will bring us further shame, T'Pol."

She nodded; she was in no position to argue with him. Respect and duty were part of the Vulcan way, and she always did what she was told. Always.

Her father motioned her to another room, his blue robe fluttering in the desert wind. "Now, I want you to meditate on this." She nodded obediently and submissively walked down the outside hallway into her room.

Emotions overwhelmed her -- she felt loss. Her uncle had been well traveled. In fact, she'd enjoyed talking with him and felt he'd also enjoyed their conversations. He'd discussed different cultures and the planets he had seen. The man had even been to Earth; he had seen Earthlings – a strangely primitive people who had recently developed warp capabilities.

It was difficult to reconcile how he could've died. He'd been gone such a short time … a year. How could his death happen so soon, and without Vulcan rites and rituals? T'Pol couldn't comprehend why suicide was shameful, but knew the loss of his katra – one of the most traveled diplomats in Vulcan -- would be remiss.

Suicide. She felt it would be preferable to madness, which is what Slarek had faced …  but only temporarily. He wouldn't have taken his own life he'd understood it was temporary. But the madness prevented him from using logic. And, she'd reasoned maybe his mental torture would leave emotional scars that made life meaningless.

She thought his death was a waste, but … couldn't feel shame for him or the family. He was her relative, her favorite on her father's side.

After resolving her feelings about Slarek, she cried into her pillow with emotional weakness. Her father would be undoubtedly more disappointed with her than he already was.

This scene touched Archer. He reached out to comfort her, stroking her hair.

"You were young. You cared for him," he reassured.

Her eyes welled up with tears, as she attempted to stop them from falling. "I am not young now."

"Emotions are sometimes hard to suppress," he whispered. "Especially the lingering ones."

"I've been concern about you," she admitted.

He stepped back. "You shouldn't worry. I'm better. I won't do anything rash."

She decided to confront him, looking up. "Yet, you thought about committing suicide only two days ago."

Archer exhaled. "Only for a moment." His lips tightened. "I didn't realize you could sense it." He stared into her eyes, trying to match her intensity.

T'Pol continued to gaze up. "Why did you?"

"Humans … we analyze our emotions, especially those they don't understand. Repressing and suppressing emotions is unhealthy for us. I've been thinking about what would've happened if Lt. Reed hadn't come. I'd been thinking about what would've happened if you hadn't saved me. I'm just trying to figure out how I feel. I'm trying to … deal with it. I haven't wanted to commit suicide, if that's what you mean. I've been thinking … what if I had."

"I would've missed you," she responded.

He gave a small smile. "I know."

"You must let go of some of these images; not all things are meant to be, as you might say, worked out."

"I know that, too." He questioned, "I guess I've wondered why you risked your life."

"You would've done the same for me."

He would've.

"Isn't that what friends do? Help each other?"

Archer grinned, "Yes. Yes they do." Sheepishly he continued, "I have a good friend." He offered his hand to assist her in standing, which she took.

"I'll be 'here' if you need to talk with someone." She felt the need to explain. "Not in your mind, but not far away."

"Thanks."

He woke up and saw he was in Sickbay.  His mind was quiet; he couldn't hear any thoughts save his own. He missed hearing her voice rolling around in his head soothing him. She looked over at him and raised her eyebrow.

Phlox said, "Well, I'm glad that only took two hours." He jerked his shoulders. "I've been scanning the two of you. The link is broken?"

T'Pol stated, "Yes."

"How do you feel?" asked the doctor.

T'Pol began, "I feel  … fine."

Archer nodded. "Back to … well, more normal."

T'Pol inclined her head. "It is about time."

Archer raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled.

Commander Tucker walked in. "Cap'n, I brought a visitor to see you."

"Do you think dogs should be allowed in a medical facility?" asked T'Pol.

Porthos barked and jumped on Archer's bed. He playfully scratched the dog's head and let the little guy lick his face.

"I don't see why not," smiled Phlox. "After all, he would fit in with all the other animals in here."

"Sub-commander, we missed ya the other night at 'Gone with the Wind," said Trip. He straightened his collar. "Heck of a show."

"It would not be the same without a date." She looked over at Archer. "He always provides the popped corn."

[top]

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