Meditation is that exercise of the mind by which it recalls a known truth, as some kind of creatures do their food, to be ruminated upon till all the valuable parts be extracted. -- George Horne.
Part 2:
Archer headed back to his quarters, the tension easing from his shoulders as Phlox's painkiller took effect, banishing the headache that had been plaguing him for most of the day. His mind replayed the encounter with T'Pol in Sickbay. It was typical of his interaction with her lately, particularly since they had found the Xindi weapon and he had made his ill-advised decision to take care of it himself once and for all. What a perfect plan that was, he told himself sarcastically.
Her plea for him to stay, at least that was how he thought of it, had caught him off guard. It wasn't so much the sentiment (although he had to admit his heart had skipped a beat or two when he heard her say those words to him) as the way the sentiment was expressed that haunted him. She had seemed poised on the edge of losing control at the prospect of him dying. If she had been Human he would have been flattered, but she wasn't Human, she was Vulcan and her barely restrained emotion unnerved him. She'd been close to losing control and his ego wasn't quite big enough to believe that the prospect of his death alone would cause her to act that way. Even he had had a better handle on his emotions and he had been the one going off to die....not to mention being of the supposedly more emotional species of the two.
Ever since the Aquatics had returned him to Enterprise, there had been one crisis after another and he had relegated the encounter to the back of his mind as they tried to put the ship back in working order. A goal that seem to be thwarted by a new obstacle every time he dared to think that they were actually making progress. And yet, amid all of this it was impossible to escape the fact that something was amiss with T'Pol. The shards of the datapad on his Ready Room floor attested to that fact (he'd have to clean that up before he let Porthos in there again, he reminded himself distractedly). He'd never seen her lose her temper before, at least not since their ill-fated expedition to the Seleya.
Is that why she was in Sickbay? Was she sick and they were keeping it from him again? He frowned as he considered this unsettling possibility, stopping as he realised that he had reached his destination. He absentmindedly punched in the access code for his quarters and was puzzled when the code was rejected. It wasn't until he tried again with the same result that he realised why he was unable to access his quarters. For starters, he wasn't standing in front of his quarters, which explained why his access code was summarily rejected by the computer. He looked around and realised that he was standing in front of T'Pol's quarters, and it probably looked like he was trying to break in to anyone passing by. He glanced around guiltily and was relieved that no one had caught him in his foolishness. Well, as long as he was here they might as well have a talk he thought, pressing the door chime this time instead of the access panel.
T'Pol was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by candles casting their flickering light around the cabin. Phlox's scans had shown only minute amounts of Trellium-D left in her system, certainly not enough to explain her continuing struggle to keep her emotions from bubbling to the surface in unexpected and uncontrollable ways. She couldn't fathom being stuck with them, unable to compartmentalize them. Fear squeezed her heart, making it difficult to breathe and causing tears to well up in her eyes. This was unbearable. She took a ragged breath, trying to calm herself and continue the meditation. She had managed to regain a modicum of calm, when the door chimed. She squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, "Come in."
Jonathan Archer entered behind her, pausing to take in the state of her quarters. She was thankful that it wasn't readily apparent that some of the damage was from her ill-controlled temper, and not the incessant attacks on Enterprise.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were alright," he said, surveying the burning candles and pools of wax that had dripped from some of the holders onto the floor. Since she hadn't turned around when he spoke he came over and sat down on the floor facing her on the other side of a flickering meditation candle.
"I am fine," said T'Pol, willing him to go away before it became apparent that she was lying. He sighed, burying his face in his hands before running them through his hair and looking up at her. He looked tired, she thought, the last week had aged him well beyond his chronological age.
"Cut the crap, T'Pol," she looked taken aback at that, he thought. "We both know you're lying," Archer said tiredly, fixing her with a look that dared her to argue with his assessment. "The question," he continued, "is why are you lying."
"We are at a crucial point in our mission," she pointed out. "You should focus on far greater concerns than my well-being," T'Pol said, trying not so deftly to redirect the conversation...and failing miserably. Phlox wasn't the only one who could fixate on a topic if need be. Sigh. He really needed sleep he thought as he tried to think of how to drag information from a reluctant Vulcan.
"You're right, but we have a rare lull for a few hours and this has been bothering me for a while, so humour me, please?" he said, letting a slight grin play across his features. The expression shed years from his age.
"Very well," she acquiesed, trying to decide how much to share with him, without placing undue burden on him or shattering his image of her. After a long silence, T'Pol divulged: "I am having...difficulty...controlling my emotions." When no further information was forthcoming, Archer sighed deeply.
"I. Know. That.," he said quietly, albeit through gritted teeth, "What I'm asking you is why you're having this much difficulty." He glanced up at her from the candle flame, and stopped her from what she was about to say. "Don't tell me it's from lack of rest, we're all short on sleep and Vulcans can go longer than Humans without sleep as you've been so fond of pointing out to us in the past. And don't tell me it's because you haven't had time to meditate, there's more wax on the floor than there is in some of the candle holders, which tells me you've being doing plenty of meditating," he said, challenging her to dispute his observations. She didn't. Nor did she offer any explanation. The silence lasted several moments as they both stared at the flickering candle light between them.
"You are correct, meditation is no longer effective in controlling my emotions," T'Pol said quietly. Archer thought that she looked lost, as though this acknowledgement had stripped her of something important, vital even.
"There are other ways to deal with emotions, T'Pol," he pointed out gently.
"Vulcans use meditation," she insisted.
"Well, maybe you need to adapt," he pointed out, enduring her baleful stare.
"I am...open to suggestions," she allowed. "How do Humans deal with emotions when they find them overpowering?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly as she asked for help from one of the few Humans she trusted with her life.
"Maybe Humans aren't you're best role models," he said grinning, trying to lighten the mood.
"Humour?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Archer groaned inwardly, outwardly throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling while he tried to collect his thoughts.
"Are you suggesting I tell jokes?" T'Pol continued incredulously, wondering if she had made a mistake in asking Jonathan Archer for help.
"No, I'm not suggesting you tell jokes," he said exasperated.
"Then what are you suggesting?" she asked.
"I'm suggesting....that maybe I'm not the best person to give you advice on controlling emotions," he admitted ruefully, remembering the bitter taste of bile when Phlox had answered the question of Lorian's paternity. T'Pol tried to discern the emotion that flickered across Jonathan Archer's face as he spoke, but it wasn't one she had seen often and she had difficulty placing it. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant and she wondered what he was thinking of.
"You do well enough," she said quietly. "Most of the time," she added, after a beat.
"I don't think you want to use my method," he said, "it doesn't work very well," he said, almost whispering the last part. He shifted his position on the floor, wincing as he found a bruise that he'd forgotten about from his encounter with the Xindi. T'Pol looked at him with concern.
"You're in pain," she said, stating the obvious as if it had just occurred to her, which in a way it had, so preoccupied had she been with her wayward emotions. He waved her off as he found another position, "It's fine, keeps my mind off of other things," he said with a self-deprecating smile. Ok, she didn't find that funny either. He knew there was a sense of humour in that Vulcan somewhere, he just wasn't very good at finding it tonight.
"Pain?" she asked, somewhat more incredulously than when she had thought he was suggesting she tell jokes.
"What?" he asked, not quite getting what she was asking as the ache in his calf subsided. "Oh, no, I'm not suggesting you hurt yourself...although sometimes physical pain, exertion, can help focus your mind. I don't think the gym's been repaired yet though, it's kind of low on the list of priorities at the moment."
"How do you...cope?" T'Pol asked. He looked at her for a long moment, debating whether he should answer her question honestly or try to make something up. He decided that he didn't have the energy to make something up.
"I don't," he said bluntly.
"What?" she said, sounding startled and, for a moment, quite un-Vulcan-like. He looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been examining and studied her face trying to judge whether this was helping her or not. She looked confused.
"I don't, T'Pol," he repeated more forcefully, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. "And I pay for it each and every night," Archer admitted.
"I don't understand."
No, from the look on her face she probably didn't, he thought. He knew that she avoided dreaming, that was the point of her nightly meditation. He remembered when she had experimented with skipping her meditation when the renegade Vulcans had come aboard. Unpleasant, at least that's what he thought her verdict was on dreaming. He hadn't pressed her on the details. Lately he was coming around to her point of view on that topic. Maybe she could understand. He stared at the candle flame between them, wishing he could meditate away all the emotions that haunted him.
"Nightmares, T'Pol" he said, suddenly very tired of anything and everything, and this conversation in particular. "I have nightmares most nights"
"You dream to cope?" she asked quietly, not quite wrapping her mind around what he was saying. He sighed heavily, deciding that this wasn't helping either one of them.
"No," he said, spelling it out for her: "I dream because I don't cope....maybe you're right, maybe that is coping. Whatever it is, I suggest you find another way. It's not very pleasant." With that remark, he pulled himself up off of the floor and stood up...carefully. Just when he thought he'd found all the cuts, bruises, and sprains that Reptilian had inflicted on him, he found another.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," he said as he headed for the door, "I hope you find something that works for you." He stopped in his tracks as he reached for the door control, and turned towards her: "You know, you never did tell me why meditation isn't working for you anymore...," hoping she would fill in that blank for him.
"I think it's best if we have that conversation another time, perhaps when the mission is over," she hedged.
"I may not survive our current mission," he teased, resorting to black humour. He was instantly sorry when she looked away and he thought her eyes welled up with tears. He reached out to touch her arm, and was surprised that she didn't move away.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said awkwardly. He waited a moment for her to say something, but she still wasn't looking at him. "Well, I guess I should go try to get a few hours sleep....so should you," he added, dropping his arm to his side and punching the door control.
"Perhaps you should try meditation," she finally said as he stepped out into the hallway.
"Maybe I should," he allowed, and headed for his quarters.
/to be continued
Part 2:
Archer headed back to his quarters, the tension easing from his shoulders as Phlox's painkiller took effect, banishing the headache that had been plaguing him for most of the day. His mind replayed the encounter with T'Pol in Sickbay. It was typical of his interaction with her lately, particularly since they had found the Xindi weapon and he had made his ill-advised decision to take care of it himself once and for all. What a perfect plan that was, he told himself sarcastically.
Her plea for him to stay, at least that was how he thought of it, had caught him off guard. It wasn't so much the sentiment (although he had to admit his heart had skipped a beat or two when he heard her say those words to him) as the way the sentiment was expressed that haunted him. She had seemed poised on the edge of losing control at the prospect of him dying. If she had been Human he would have been flattered, but she wasn't Human, she was Vulcan and her barely restrained emotion unnerved him. She'd been close to losing control and his ego wasn't quite big enough to believe that the prospect of his death alone would cause her to act that way. Even he had had a better handle on his emotions and he had been the one going off to die....not to mention being of the supposedly more emotional species of the two.
Ever since the Aquatics had returned him to Enterprise, there had been one crisis after another and he had relegated the encounter to the back of his mind as they tried to put the ship back in working order. A goal that seem to be thwarted by a new obstacle every time he dared to think that they were actually making progress. And yet, amid all of this it was impossible to escape the fact that something was amiss with T'Pol. The shards of the datapad on his Ready Room floor attested to that fact (he'd have to clean that up before he let Porthos in there again, he reminded himself distractedly). He'd never seen her lose her temper before, at least not since their ill-fated expedition to the Seleya.
Is that why she was in Sickbay? Was she sick and they were keeping it from him again? He frowned as he considered this unsettling possibility, stopping as he realised that he had reached his destination. He absentmindedly punched in the access code for his quarters and was puzzled when the code was rejected. It wasn't until he tried again with the same result that he realised why he was unable to access his quarters. For starters, he wasn't standing in front of his quarters, which explained why his access code was summarily rejected by the computer. He looked around and realised that he was standing in front of T'Pol's quarters, and it probably looked like he was trying to break in to anyone passing by. He glanced around guiltily and was relieved that no one had caught him in his foolishness. Well, as long as he was here they might as well have a talk he thought, pressing the door chime this time instead of the access panel.
T'Pol was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by candles casting their flickering light around the cabin. Phlox's scans had shown only minute amounts of Trellium-D left in her system, certainly not enough to explain her continuing struggle to keep her emotions from bubbling to the surface in unexpected and uncontrollable ways. She couldn't fathom being stuck with them, unable to compartmentalize them. Fear squeezed her heart, making it difficult to breathe and causing tears to well up in her eyes. This was unbearable. She took a ragged breath, trying to calm herself and continue the meditation. She had managed to regain a modicum of calm, when the door chimed. She squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, "Come in."
Jonathan Archer entered behind her, pausing to take in the state of her quarters. She was thankful that it wasn't readily apparent that some of the damage was from her ill-controlled temper, and not the incessant attacks on Enterprise.
"I just wanted to make sure that you were alright," he said, surveying the burning candles and pools of wax that had dripped from some of the holders onto the floor. Since she hadn't turned around when he spoke he came over and sat down on the floor facing her on the other side of a flickering meditation candle.
"I am fine," said T'Pol, willing him to go away before it became apparent that she was lying. He sighed, burying his face in his hands before running them through his hair and looking up at her. He looked tired, she thought, the last week had aged him well beyond his chronological age.
"Cut the crap, T'Pol," she looked taken aback at that, he thought. "We both know you're lying," Archer said tiredly, fixing her with a look that dared her to argue with his assessment. "The question," he continued, "is why are you lying."
"We are at a crucial point in our mission," she pointed out. "You should focus on far greater concerns than my well-being," T'Pol said, trying not so deftly to redirect the conversation...and failing miserably. Phlox wasn't the only one who could fixate on a topic if need be. Sigh. He really needed sleep he thought as he tried to think of how to drag information from a reluctant Vulcan.
"You're right, but we have a rare lull for a few hours and this has been bothering me for a while, so humour me, please?" he said, letting a slight grin play across his features. The expression shed years from his age.
"Very well," she acquiesed, trying to decide how much to share with him, without placing undue burden on him or shattering his image of her. After a long silence, T'Pol divulged: "I am having...difficulty...controlling my emotions." When no further information was forthcoming, Archer sighed deeply.
"I. Know. That.," he said quietly, albeit through gritted teeth, "What I'm asking you is why you're having this much difficulty." He glanced up at her from the candle flame, and stopped her from what she was about to say. "Don't tell me it's from lack of rest, we're all short on sleep and Vulcans can go longer than Humans without sleep as you've been so fond of pointing out to us in the past. And don't tell me it's because you haven't had time to meditate, there's more wax on the floor than there is in some of the candle holders, which tells me you've being doing plenty of meditating," he said, challenging her to dispute his observations. She didn't. Nor did she offer any explanation. The silence lasted several moments as they both stared at the flickering candle light between them.
"You are correct, meditation is no longer effective in controlling my emotions," T'Pol said quietly. Archer thought that she looked lost, as though this acknowledgement had stripped her of something important, vital even.
"There are other ways to deal with emotions, T'Pol," he pointed out gently.
"Vulcans use meditation," she insisted.
"Well, maybe you need to adapt," he pointed out, enduring her baleful stare.
"I am...open to suggestions," she allowed. "How do Humans deal with emotions when they find them overpowering?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly as she asked for help from one of the few Humans she trusted with her life.
"Maybe Humans aren't you're best role models," he said grinning, trying to lighten the mood.
"Humour?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Archer groaned inwardly, outwardly throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling while he tried to collect his thoughts.
"Are you suggesting I tell jokes?" T'Pol continued incredulously, wondering if she had made a mistake in asking Jonathan Archer for help.
"No, I'm not suggesting you tell jokes," he said exasperated.
"Then what are you suggesting?" she asked.
"I'm suggesting....that maybe I'm not the best person to give you advice on controlling emotions," he admitted ruefully, remembering the bitter taste of bile when Phlox had answered the question of Lorian's paternity. T'Pol tried to discern the emotion that flickered across Jonathan Archer's face as he spoke, but it wasn't one she had seen often and she had difficulty placing it. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant and she wondered what he was thinking of.
"You do well enough," she said quietly. "Most of the time," she added, after a beat.
"I don't think you want to use my method," he said, "it doesn't work very well," he said, almost whispering the last part. He shifted his position on the floor, wincing as he found a bruise that he'd forgotten about from his encounter with the Xindi. T'Pol looked at him with concern.
"You're in pain," she said, stating the obvious as if it had just occurred to her, which in a way it had, so preoccupied had she been with her wayward emotions. He waved her off as he found another position, "It's fine, keeps my mind off of other things," he said with a self-deprecating smile. Ok, she didn't find that funny either. He knew there was a sense of humour in that Vulcan somewhere, he just wasn't very good at finding it tonight.
"Pain?" she asked, somewhat more incredulously than when she had thought he was suggesting she tell jokes.
"What?" he asked, not quite getting what she was asking as the ache in his calf subsided. "Oh, no, I'm not suggesting you hurt yourself...although sometimes physical pain, exertion, can help focus your mind. I don't think the gym's been repaired yet though, it's kind of low on the list of priorities at the moment."
"How do you...cope?" T'Pol asked. He looked at her for a long moment, debating whether he should answer her question honestly or try to make something up. He decided that he didn't have the energy to make something up.
"I don't," he said bluntly.
"What?" she said, sounding startled and, for a moment, quite un-Vulcan-like. He looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been examining and studied her face trying to judge whether this was helping her or not. She looked confused.
"I don't, T'Pol," he repeated more forcefully, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. "And I pay for it each and every night," Archer admitted.
"I don't understand."
No, from the look on her face she probably didn't, he thought. He knew that she avoided dreaming, that was the point of her nightly meditation. He remembered when she had experimented with skipping her meditation when the renegade Vulcans had come aboard. Unpleasant, at least that's what he thought her verdict was on dreaming. He hadn't pressed her on the details. Lately he was coming around to her point of view on that topic. Maybe she could understand. He stared at the candle flame between them, wishing he could meditate away all the emotions that haunted him.
"Nightmares, T'Pol" he said, suddenly very tired of anything and everything, and this conversation in particular. "I have nightmares most nights"
"You dream to cope?" she asked quietly, not quite wrapping her mind around what he was saying. He sighed heavily, deciding that this wasn't helping either one of them.
"No," he said, spelling it out for her: "I dream because I don't cope....maybe you're right, maybe that is coping. Whatever it is, I suggest you find another way. It's not very pleasant." With that remark, he pulled himself up off of the floor and stood up...carefully. Just when he thought he'd found all the cuts, bruises, and sprains that Reptilian had inflicted on him, he found another.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," he said as he headed for the door, "I hope you find something that works for you." He stopped in his tracks as he reached for the door control, and turned towards her: "You know, you never did tell me why meditation isn't working for you anymore...," hoping she would fill in that blank for him.
"I think it's best if we have that conversation another time, perhaps when the mission is over," she hedged.
"I may not survive our current mission," he teased, resorting to black humour. He was instantly sorry when she looked away and he thought her eyes welled up with tears. He reached out to touch her arm, and was surprised that she didn't move away.
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said awkwardly. He waited a moment for her to say something, but she still wasn't looking at him. "Well, I guess I should go try to get a few hours sleep....so should you," he added, dropping his arm to his side and punching the door control.
"Perhaps you should try meditation," she finally said as he stepped out into the hallway.
"Maybe I should," he allowed, and headed for his quarters.
/to be continued