AN

I kinda hit a writer's block over this past week or so, so apologies for what may be a rather stiff chapter.

Only a few things to say really. The Vorta Wey-out – good point, but I'd have thought that when the Enterprise are done with all this Xindi stuff I keep hearing so much about, that they'd return back to Earth to fix themselves up again (I saw 'E2' after a friend taped it for me, and I saw the mess of the ship –low whistle-). So I figure they go back to get the ship fixed and restock on weapons and upgrades, and new crew members. I don't think they'd go back into space minus 13 or so most likely fairly important posts.

Sound good? Do I get away with that one? I really am scraping it with the canon stuff, I know.

dennisud – I will make sure to give the Andorians a motive, thanks for the tip.

Now to the story.

Telaka

. . . . . . .

It was something of a horrendously hectic Tuesday morning in Starfleet. Yet if it hadn't been busy, overcrowded, hot, stuffy and generally teaming with humanity then there would have been a bad reason for it and so something perhaps terribly wrong. Instead it was a normal day of eternal hustle and clockwork activity and with few eyebrows rose at anything interesting at all, until some highly respected and wholly famous faces, in their own rights, came in.

It took very little effort by Malcolm and Trip to take the average worker's attention off of whatever valuable task lay in their hands and onto their freshly arrived and ever slightly grinning presences.

"I don't think there was a place I could ever have called home better on Earth than here."

Trip let his feet come to a slow halt just outside the San Francisco base of Starfleet, Malcolm standing no more than a half a stride before him, once again drinking in the familiar place with his own smiling gaze.

"Nah, Florida'll always be home for me, but this would be ma favourite home away from home."

Slowly Malcolm nodded as he took his hands from their stationary and temporary position on his hips before beginning to walk forward into the colossal steel front entrance arc.

"You coming or do you plan to gawp all day?"

Trip flashed him a brief, tight smile. "Alright, keep yer shirt on."

For mid-autumn – the month of August soon to become that of September – it was rather a warm and clammy day, the sun as high and solid as a late-summer's and as bright as a spring's. Its gleam on anything reflective was at most angles almost blinding and the place being constructed of masses of aluminium and steel was a living metaphoric halo of holly light.

It made getting in the sight all that more blissful. The interior was cool and fresh and gentle on the eye with its dominance of sea blues and pale greys as decoration to the walls. The most blinding place on the eye probably now would be the room of plaques put up for the NX-01 crew, past and present.

The couple savoured the breezy entrance hall as much as they did the familiar welcoming of the front gates as they made their way automatically to the swinging double doors that would lead to the tens of levels of blueprinting, construction and testing rooms.

They had been heeded in advance in the email that their arrivals were expected in their own areas of expertise, engineering and weaponry. The only thing that bugged Malcolm in particular about all of this was how they who contacted them knew he was at Trip's. For now he made no mention of it though, as the matter appeared as far from Trip's concerns as his sister was right now.

They didn't quite make it through these double doors on their first try though as distractions prevailed to stop them; half way across the sterile lino floor they managed to trek before Trip recognised the one face most familiar to him.

"Jonathan!"
A former Captain that looked on his last nerves with this day, even though it was only rounding for nine, stopped in his tracks on his way to the lift that would lead to the offices of the Ambassadors and Admirals and turned on his former Chief Engineer and Tactical Officer. His eyes were exhausted and not shy of the presence of bags but they seemed quickly rejuvenated with a brief smile as they settled on the two varied tones of blue in the men's sets of eyes.

"What have they pulled you up for his this time, eh Trip? Haven't caught you stealing office pens have they?"

The two men exchanged brief, brisk pats on the shoulders as Trip claimed his innocence and Malcolm, although as comfortable in the presence of these two as he had ever been with any person, held himself back with a simple smile and a "Hello Sir."

"Jonathan, Malcolm, my name's Jonathan, or even just Jon if you like. Between you and T'Pol I think I'm gonna lose it with the 'Captains' and the 'Sirs'."

Very briefly the Englishman and Southerner swapped the same teasing grin in their eyes before they turned back to the unshaven Captain.

"Sorry… Jonathan."

It seemed to pain Malcolm slightly to call him that instead of the more comfortable Captain or Sir.

"I take it then you've been called in to update Starfleet on what you two invented in your free time up in space."

"Got it in one Jon."

There was no reluctance or discomfort to any degree in Trip to call his old Starfleet buddy by his real and then abbreviated name. He had no shame in prying into his business either.

"Can we ask you the same then?"

There was a mark of hesitation in Jonathan drawn out long enough in an awkward silence to prove his next words as either a blatant lie or a generous twist of the truth.

"Admiral Forrest has… some business with the Vulcans he wants me to help clear up with him. One successful cruise on one Starship still isn't gonna be enough to explain to them that we're competent enough, but then who was kidding who into thinking it would."

The weak smile that came with the explanation was true enough, reflecting slightly in his tired eyes to confirm it, but never would Trip be convinced by those words. He also knew however when to let something lie and not on his life would Malcolm comment on the cover up.

"Well if the Admiral's callin' we wont keep him waitin'. Catch up with y' both later?"

Trip began to edge towards the double doors again, Malcolm at his side as they walked slowly backwards.

"Both?"

Trip grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, ah assume T'Pol's still hangin' 'bout with ya?"

There was another hesitation followed by another weak smile. "If I can convince her to go to a bar then maybe we'll meet up with you both at the 602 some time."

There was nothing that could stop the short snort of laughter from Trip's nostrils or the widening of lids from Malcolm, who took his turn to speak up in the humour of the proposal.

"I must say, good luck with that mission Cap—Jonathan."

Jonathan's lift opened for him and he stepped in with a fresher, bolder smile, even if he did still reek quite obviously of fatigue and agitation. "Well I don't imagine it'll be as difficult as it sounds. I'll give you both a call when she comes round to the idea."

Their quipped brows at his confidence sent him on his way as the silver doors swallowed him quickly and sent him up to the offices of the big guns.

Thereafter there was no hesitation in Trip and Malcolm's own conversation.

"Ah don't buy it."

"I'd be worried if you did."

"If the Vulcans are involved then so's T'Pol so she's gotta be here with him."

"Well aren't you the Horatio Caine?"

"You like all that old cop show stuff then?"

"They weren't cops, they were Forensic Scientists."

"No, Horatio was a Lieutenant. Ah would've have thought you'd known that."

"I do, but he did focus more on the evidence, like the Scientists."

"Okay, well the evidence here says somethin' runnin' up Jon's ass and it's got somethin' t' do with T'Pol an' the Vulcans. Ma guess is T'Pol aint too happy with things either."

"Vulcans aren't generally 'happy' about anything Trip. It is still classes as an emotions."

"Don't you have a Calleight' go chase 'Horatio'?"

"A man of the shippers eh?"

"Down boy."

. . . . . . .

I heard him come in, as quietly and delicately as if he had just snuck in and went against every concrete law of the medical offices in Starfleet as he did so.

With only a whisper of footsteps he began to cross the small, single bedded ward and I intended to rise to greet him, until he uttered a sigh so heavy with remorse and angst that I found for some unaccountable reason myself staying down with my eyes trained shut. My back, slightly archer with my knees risen slightly to my chest lay to face him and my head was buried in sheets; he wouldn't have known I was awake even if I did lie with my eyes open.

"T'Pol…"

I couldn't place any logical cause for the waver of depression that dropped on every syllable of his husky voice, but it was as prominent in his throat as his grey shadow, which I watched drape over the bed and across my face as I listened to him come to an awkward stand at my side behind me. Still I played myself as asleep, and still I wasn't sure why.

"I'm… so sorry that I could probably never tell you how much by. I promised myself I'd look after you, and, well," there was a pathetic tumble of miserable laughter from the depth of his throat, "you don't really need looking after, hell you could punch a guy harder than I can, but… I should have been more careful, I should have been paying more attention."

Warily I moved one stiff leg down the bed and there was a pause of desperate hope from Jonathan, but I didn't dare to move another part of me thereafter. I understood now he was saying things he would perhaps not say to my woken face, and so I felt it only right that I allowed him to carry on. I would judge later whether I was 'making excuses', as the Humans say, for myself or not.

"God I was your Captain for seven years and I never really let anything happen to you then, except…"

He wilfully let himself trail off and we shared silently in those same distant memories of Salanacon for a hushed moment before a dry cough from Jonathan brought the present back to both our attentions once again.

"I'm such an ass."

I felt him take a few steps back and watched the shadow recoil from across my face and shoulders a little. He emitted another mess of laughter but it was poisoned with spite now, and very quietly his teeth ground forcefully together. I wasn't entirely sure where his anger was directed at, but I found it entirely illogical for it to be aimed at himself, even thought it seemed to be.

"I'll never understand you T'Pol. I'll never understand why you stayed with us on Enterprise, why you gave up everything to do that. I'll never understand why you were so stupid to do that. And I'll never understand you Vulcans, and your logic, and your pride 'cause by God do you have pride. And why you're so stubborn!"

I clenched the sheets slightly. His anger still seemed slanted towards himself, yet he was hailing his frustrations on his misunderstanding of my race and myself. I had to admit to a thin haze of confusion now.

"I, just," through clamped teeth he almost spat his words, "don't understand!"

Quickly a hush filled the void that the echo of his voice made. I drew breath in short silent tolls, daring not to break the tension laced heavily throughout the room, the epicentre of it all radiating from Jonathan's clenched fists.

Suddenly at my side the bed dipped and I grabbed the sheets as an automatic response. If Jonathan caught my reflex he didn't heed it as he sat in silence on the mattress at my hip.

"The one thing that I'll really, never get, though, is when you wake up, you'll forgive me, and then forget my mistake within the hour. Yet whenever you make a mistake, I make sure to make it an example of why Vulcans aren't the perfect role models they're always claiming to be, and then after that you'll forgive me and forget that as well…"

I held my breath for just a little over a minute and as the pent up air escaped my throat the husky whisper of it seemed to rattle every wall and nerve left lingering in the aftermath of Jonathan's short, strained speech.

"And I can't say Shran didn't warn us, warn you. He 'wont keep allies if they wont fight his enemies with him'. I just hope that wasn't him five months ago, 'cause God help me if it was."

To self-confess to it, although I didn't understand why he was quoting Shran, I found I was somewhat glad I had played asleep and let Jonathan speak. His short speeches seemed something he had had to say for a while now, and something I should probably have heard, even if it was never intended that I do.

There was now something I had to ask him, but for now I found it was necessary that it waited.

There was a gentle commotion of sheets as Jonathan shifted his position slightly. His hand bore down on my head, his palm gliding tentatively over the crown of my neat cut of coarse hair. He then leant down and kissed me so carefully on the side of my forehead that I only just felt it with the hot exhale of his breath. My eyelids flickered but I fought to keep myself 'asleep'.

"I am, really sorry."

And on the wake of that he left. I understood his actions as well as he did my nature.

. . . . . . .

-Five Hours Later-

They both still believed I was asleep. I began to wonder as I continued to play the role of 'vulnerably ill' (as I discovered more of the plain, honest truth this way) whether they were now paying more attention to their PADDs (Phlox) and their remorse (Jonathan) than my actual current peaceful and rather well state of body.

"Captain you can't go blaming yourself for this."

They were at the doorway, which lay perhaps just a little less than ten feet or so from the base of the single warm bed of the small, sterile room.

"Jonathan, my name's Jonathan and you're entitled to call me that now. You're as bad as T'Pol."

I had discovered in the last five hours also that Jonathan appeared to have stemmed some sort of habit, I don't know when, of referring to me offhandedly in such ways as he had just now to Doctor Phlox. They sat as half-chides in his voice that most probably meant no harm and even seemed to possess a hint of affection in them.

When referring to an apparent 'half-smile that sat in my eyes and bugged the hell out of whoever it was directed at' he had even laughed somewhat dryly. I honestly hadn't a clue as to what he was claiming to see; eyes could not smile and I certainly never, there was no sense in his statement what so ever.

"Fine, Jonathan." Phlox spoke with a tangle of impatience nestled in his so often optimistic and charming voice. It reflected in the blatantly tense atmosphere of the room.

"Will you please reason with me on this?"

I shifted the position of my torso more comfortably onto my side but neither of the two paused to observe as Jonathan had before every time I showed a hope of 'waking'.

"I poisoned her Phlox! There's no gentle way of reasoning with that, I'm sure. I managed to perform something of the biggest trick of ignorance for myself to date and she's here now as she is because of it."

"Jonathan I would be far more worried about your actions if you hadn't tried to do anything to help with the wound in the first place than making a mistake when you did. By any standards it was a bad injury that could very easily have gotten infected by the time it had taken you both to get home. Using antiseptics on it was the best idea for it, even if unfortunately it did do more bad than good in the end."

"But I know she's allergic to chlorine, it was made perfectly clear after we brought her back from that damn planet, right?"

Phlox must simply have nodded because Jonathan continued his self-infliction of guilt a few seconds later with some hint of triumph.

"And I damn well know there's enough chlorine in antiseptics to kill her, like it almost did back then five years ago. And I almost did now. It wasn't the dog bite, it was me. I put every inch of her left leg into a rash and almost burnt her stomach inside out. Hell I…"

A heavy weight fell onto the end of the bed. Jonathan had collapsed into a silence at my feet.

A smothering of sympathy found its way into Phlox's voice, which had been loud and fierce with defence on his moral argument barely half a minute ago.

"And you've hardly left her side since. It's clear the harm caused was unintentional. I never understood why humans couldn't simply accept their accidents and mistakes, especially in such cases as this where what was done can easily be fixed, and no harm was ever intended. Now I have two Denobulans with as fine a medical mind as my own and a whole team of your finest doctors that will all tell you the same thing – she will be perfectly fine. More so right now than she is probably letting on…"

He knew I was awake, I could even feel the smile. Jonathan never did catch on.

The stress of weight at the end of the bed was relieved as he with a grudging sigh rose to his stiff feet again. I dared not move, as my face and its features were no longer so well concealed that I could venture to open my eyes slightly. My eyelids flickered but only in response to the ache of my actual eyes, and it was true that I was suffering from enough fatigue to simply fall to sleep once again, even as these to commuted words.

I had done so already even of several occasions over the past five hours now but in turn I was always woken by the sound of Jonathan's low, husky voice, either his words spoken to me rhetorically or, as once before this time, to Phlox.

That conversation, which had taken event only two hours ago, was dangerously close to repeating its general outline once again, coming just as close to ending the same way as well.

"Can I leave you now without worrying that you will be in here 'beating yourself up' over the mater, as Commander Tucker so aptly puts it?"

I imagine Jonathan smiled to some small degree because a short pause was followed by a cheerful 'Good!' from Phlox.

"And I do hope that we can chat again later, under better circumstances," was meant as his after note to his former Captain.

Jonathan's continuing smile, the one that I had seen so often across his whole face and not just restricted in his mouth, seemed evident in the general atmosphere of the room now. Most peculiarly I seemed relieved to some extent by this. I felt a sensual release of tension across my shoulders and down my spine and the bed protested through a quiet hail of rustling sheets as my full weight finally settled on the stiff mattress.

This time Jonathan took heed of my unintentional movement. His cold hand landed tentatively on my freshly relaxed shoulder and rested there as he reverted back to speaking with Phlox.

"When will she be awake?"

Phlox probably emitted another of his smiles that most, if not all of humans found curiously disturbing.

"Ah, I imagine any time overnight. She's asleep now, more than anything. Resting."

Another cool silence swept in soon after the answer and it was clear Phlox was eager to leave for his other matters of business most likely dotted throughout the medical halls surrounding us.

"I really do have to go Captain."

Jonathan's hand left my shoulder in haste and I listened to his heavy footfall rush across the sparingly spaced room to see Phlox out the door, in part making up for the hesitation he had caused.

"Of course, I'm sorry."

"Nonsense."

And so I listened in a drowse of senses as they said their goodbyes and premature goodnights and the afternoon grew on a little and I felt a great urge to fall back asleep again. A small whisper of "He really is as bad as you T'Pol" was the last of Jonathan's voice that I heard before I curled into a comfort of sleep that managed to last me until the early hours of the next morning, which saw me prematurely awake yet again.

. . . . . . .

A breed of uncomfortable silence fell carefully over the cool blue of the small room in Starfleet's sickbay, evaporation what had been a delicate serenity that lulled the air within. Jonathan's eyes flickered open stiffly and his throat swallowed back a wad of thick, hot saliva. He lifted his head slightly from where he had finally fallen asleep at the chest of T'Pol, who herself slept on with unsettling stillness.

A shadow spilled inward from the doorway to the quiet, private ward. The silhouette of an unnamed entity sat at the feet of T'Pol, stationary but with the grey nose directed at Jonathan. He continued to blink furiously, still unaccustomed to the smoky darkness and still very much half-asleep.

"Phlox?"

Of course it was not Phlox, for Phlox would have had the decency to allow a man to sleep in contented peace when he had been on an electrified edge for close to twenty-four hours now.

Who it really was became evident when Jonathan's eyes picked up on the small traces of light that snuck in from the hallway outside which allowed him to pick out the face of the being behind the olive shadows of his features. He refrained from spitting the name of the person that he finally focused on as he rose slowly from his hellishly uncomfortable makeshift bed that was a lumpy, jet-black plastic chair.

"Soval…"

The Vulcan in the former Captain's midst nodded respectfully. His sallow aging hands tucked away comfortably into a mountain of rich, dull green robes and his eyes were hidden almost in the olive shadows that shrouded him. Jonathan's vision fell into slightly better focus with what little other light there was from monitors and a small window and he knew with bitter distaste in studying the elder's subdued face that the Vulcan wanted something. Most likely it wasn't something from him.

"How it Sub Commander T'Pol?"

Jonathan's response was instant and fierce on the sharp edges of his tongue. "She's not your Sub Commander anymore. Or your business. What do you want, seeing as I guess you're not here bearing flowers and grapes?"

Soval, not understanding the snide, throwaway comment, ignored Jonathan's resentful words and blatant tone and kept his attention on T'Pol.

"I assure you Archer that I am not here as a threat to yourself or T'Pol. I simply heard that she had been taken to Starfleet medical here in San Francisco after a rather, unfortunate attack involving one of the canine species of this planet, not your own pet I hope, and I wondered if we couldn't talk whilst she was here."

Jonathan knew Vulcans perhaps better than they or even T'Pol gave him credit for, if nothing else due to the Science Officer he had had forced upon him at the beginning of the mission, and who had stubbornly stayed at his side ever since. He was usually aware of when they were twisting the truth certainly, as he could often tell when T'Pol was doing so, and their reasons for twisting the truth were rarely for a good cause. Soval was particularly ease to pick up on and Jonathan stood forward slowly in front of T'Pol, almost protectively.

"And why would you be turning up at one o'clock in the morning, when she's asleep and no one else should be around?"

Soval sighed, showing as much irritation as he would allow in that short gust of air out his nostrils.

"Your suspicion is unnecessary and brash Archer. I thought perhaps she would be meditating at this time. We Vulcans do not need the same amount of sleep you humans do, for a Vulcan to be up this late would not be unusual."

Soval's pride would never die, it was eternal in him as T'Pol's stubbornness was in her and Jonathan's few loyalties were to others.

"You can come back in the morning, when she's awake, if she is."

Soval was also as proud as he was resilient. "This is not a social call Archer. What I have to discuss with the Sub Commander has concerns with the High Command, urgent concerns, that I need answers for preferable by noon tomorrow."

Jonathan came level with Soval's grey gaze as he took a purpose stride forward towards the snobbish Vulcan ambassador and glared deep and vengefully into his dark, unflinching pupils.

"If it can wait for five years then it can wait another couple of days."

"We need T'Pol's official resignation now, to break her off from her contract with the High Command immediately and to assure she will not work with her unruly manner in any station of authority and respect on Vulcan again. It is quite important, although I'm sure you don't appreciate it so."

Jonathan growled his with narrow eyes. "Don't patronise me."

The whisper chilled the corners of the room. A soft rustle signified movement in the single bed in the private ward but Jonathan remained unfazed, inches from Soval's nose with his own.

"It is plainly obvious that you do not at all understand the importance of this resignation. She is a threat to authority and order within the High Command and other respectful organisations. We need to be sure she will not discard others as she has us. We must—"

"Get out."

Every swaying fibre of Soval's stance froze. "Excuse me?"

Jonathan stepped back from the elder and pointed sharply at the door. "Get out now."

"Archer, if you would simply think about the damage she has done—"

"Out now, before I have to haul your ass over the exit myself!"

Soval lost his argument on that. He looked with a poison of distaste on Jonathan before he spoke on his leave.

"I will have that resignation by tomorrow Sub Commander.

Jonathan turned as Soval's dull gaze was spilled over his tense shoulder and onto the entity behind him. T'Pol sat up on one elbow, unyielding in movement and dangerously stern in her own gaze.

"I will receive a proper hearing, as I am fully entitled to Soval."

"We are not on first name terms Sub Commander."

"And I am no longer the High Command's Sub Commander, remember?"

Jonathan turned back to Soval, his shadowed stare lain carefully on the stubborn aging features of the elder once again. "You heard her."

The Ambassador looked wholly reluctant to leave without what he had come to receive from the former Sub Commander, but with a curt edgy nod he eventually did.

"Admiral Forrest will alert you as to when your hearing is, until then you are designated to stay on Earth and cannot return to Vulcan. That is an entitlement of the High Command that I'm sure you are aware of. Recover well T'Pol."

A gentle ruffle of his opulent outfit signalled the take of his leave through the ajar ward door that Jonathan quickly shut over as his heal left the white lino of the room.

The tension thereafter folded away as quickly as it had drowned the room. There was a jolt of surprise through the air though when Jonathan turned back to the bed and embraced T'Pol as he sat on it, with little shame in his tight, bodily show of affection and relief.

"You have to stop doing that to me T'Pol. You'll turn a man's hairs white"

She was naturally taken aback by this unexpected action, the utter strength of it, and the ferociousness of it that echoed the intensity of his previous worries, and she coughed slightly in her lingering fatigue.

"Sir—" she squirmed in his hold slightly whilst automatically correcting herself, "Jonathan, I have not 'done' what I presume you to be referring to since the attack on Salanacon, five years ago. I apologise for not seeking the medical attention you had suggested I should have beforehand, but would you please—"

Jonathan unwrapped his arms finally from T'Pol, the dark fashioning a sliver of coy redness across his cheeks in a crimson shadow as he did so, but his jaw mildly beaming quite insanely in his characteristic way nonetheless.

He carefully repositioned himself at her side on the bed once again and as he did so his face morphed slowly from the smile to a façade of deep, regretful sorrow, which eased also into his somewhat husky voice.

"I'm sorry."

T'Pol quipped a slim brow and sat up tentatively as a quiver of prickly heat darted down the sensitive skin of her spine and insulted leg. She tensed and quietly winced in the pain.

"Here, lie down."

Tenderly with utmost care he placed a hand on her cold shoulder to urge her down and she watched it grudgingly.

"I'm fine."

She took his wrist just as much carefully and carried the pressure of his palm off her shoulder, giving him his hand back, which he in turn placed reluctantly at his side.

"There's some… news I have to fill you in on."

Although she did not lie down T'Pol settled herself back on one lithe elbow, using her free hand to bring the thin sheets tighter around her to bar herself from the cold that continued to play across her skin.

She was watching Jonathan now with something of a curious taste, wondering if he was about to indulge to her the news about the antiseptic that she was already fully aware of. Instead he told her about the Andorian attack, something he hadn't spoken to about in her 'sleep'.

"Considering how our last encounter with Shran went," she spoke quietly after the ten minutes it took Jonathan to wade his way through what Forrest had told him; of the attack, its casualties and the Humans' response, "then perhaps we should not be so surprised about this."

She also spoke carefully, each word thought over in her mind before uttered across her tongue.

"And would you call that an excuse?"

No one had thought to turn the lights on and Jonathan looked almost ruthlessly agitated and confused by T'Pol in the smoky shadows that lingered throughout. It was not she that he scowled at however, only the situation and how things looked already to be heading to conclude. An idea of war at least stayed stubborn and emphasised in his basket of many hypothesises.

"No, but I would say that he did heed us well enough two years ago that something like this could happen. It is unlikely that we will go to war with them though, it is not Vulcan nature to fight."

"But you will if you're provoked. It's not as if you sat on my ship with your fists and your pistol to yourself the whole seven years. And the Vulcans have already retaliated"

She sat up again, her elbow growing unpleasantly numb under her weight. "Provoked into self-defence is very different from engaging willingly in war.

Silently he gave her that as a fair argument. It did nothing to convince him however.

Very suddenly T'Pol laid herself down again, her face tightening and her eyes closing as she braced herself through a wave of hot pain that coursed down her leg and through ever nerve of her healing ankle. She allowed it to pass rather swiftly with no fuss and as she slowly pealed her lids open again thought it needed no explanation to Jonathan that it was simply a passing of pain emphasised slightly by her clinging fatigue. His somewhat quietly horror stricken eyes told her otherwise.

"Are you alright?"

She moved to pillar herself on her elbows again but his cold hand came down on her shoulder once more and made no threat to keep her down this time, but instead firmly did.

"I'm fine."

The remorse was back to haunt Jonathan's expression again. After her assurance that she was fine a silence lingered over them, unbroken by T'Pol because she knew that this time he was on the cusp of telling the story she already knew of the antiseptic and its high ratio of chlorine, and how he saw this as nothing short of entirely his fault. She wondered if she would waste any more deprived hours of sleep debating that with him, as it seemed Phlox had failed in doing so, before she finally sat up and spoke up again.

"I did myself suggest using a mild antiseptic. It would have to be my fault as well, if it were to be your fault that this happened, as neither of us checked its label to see for chlorine. And also it would be the boy's fault, who trained his dog as he did, and therefore the Vulcans and the Andorians fault for provoking him to train his dog as so. You should be able to see yourself how illogical it is to think that you alone are the sole convict here, and further more illogical that you continue to feel guilty when such an accident has turned out to have little lasting harm in the end."

Perhaps a hundred times he had heard these such speeches from her when his emotional reaction had been 'illogical' and a hundred times he either responded with his distaste spat out about the Vulcans, or with no response at all. In this case, this morning, his response was the latter, with only one small difference to the other hundred times; this time he found himself reasoning with the argument, and eventually, as she kept unbroken eye contact with him, having to agree with it.

"I'm still, very sorry."

She nodded graciously. "I know."

They watched together the glowing hands of a wall clock move to form the signal for half past one. In heeding it they both felt a wall of weariness strike them, chiding them for being up so late. Jonathan removed himself from T'Pol's bed.

"I'll leave you be then. Admiral Forrest set me up with my old quarters again for the night so you're not stuck with me snoring for the rest of the morning."

"You do not snore."

He smiled gently. "Goodnight T'Pol."

As he turned his back she sat forward off her elbows quickly again.

"Wait."

He stopped himself dead and turned back to her in the dark. "Yeah?"

Although she hesitated then for a moment it wasn't for long and she plunged ahead with the question she had decided to ask when listening in her sleep earlier to Jonathan.

"Will you come to Vulcan with me, after the hearing?"

The request was dangerously close to being a needy plea, but her calm gaze and level tone kept it just from sounding so.

"I have to speak with my family again, and would appreciate the company if you came with me."

Very slowly, as the wholly unexpected question shifted over and turned in his mind a smile broke the darkness of the room and Jonathan nodded willingly. "Of course. Just let me know when and I'll wipe my calendar clean."

In turn she nodded back. Relief shot through her in a warm wave of blood. Carefully she laid herself for the last time that morning on the bed to settle back to sleep. Jonathan made no hesitations to leave her in peace and allow her the last bout of rest she needed in recovery.

He shut the door tentatively behind her and under a short whisper of breath as she listened to his footsteps carry him away she uttered an almost silent 'Thank you'.