A.N
As haphazardly constructed as this may be, I'm actually quite proud of this chapter -smiles- Well, at least one part of it anyway...
. . . . . . .
To say I had a simple splitting headache that morning would be an insult, to me and the headache. Like a wrath unleashed it bounced back and forth against my taut temples, seeming to enjoy the dancing torture it laid upon me, which not soon after began to creep down my jaw line. I gritted my teeth however, and bared it.
It was because of stress, it always was with me. Throughout my school life, whenever exams would rear their ugly heads, or even bullies for that matter, my temples would always pound and my stomach cease to stop digesting. It was my body's way of dealing with what life had to throw at me, but not how I ever personally would choose to cope. Personally I would find a nice hole to bury myself in, depending on the dilemma, (anything that could be resolved by explosions, well I would take the explosive route) and stay there until the sun shone pretty again. Unfortunately this was never allowed as an option for me, because of society, and so I learnt in the end to grind my teeth, and thus that is why I am my dentist's worst customer.
I gripped the phone tight, my knuckles transforming to a ghoulish white as I closed over my eyes and took in a much-needed mouthful of air, glad at least that she was calling via audio only. For the next ten minutes I allowed my mother to go on, her slight Scottish accent and higher than usual pitch pinching at my eardrums as I occasionally switched the receiver from side to side. It was hard to tell whether she was hysterical, missing her son, drunk or some strange and tragic hybrid of them all. Unfortunately the hybrid was not a completely absurd or comical idea.
"Mal, son, please just come home. Now that you're back on Earth you can come and stay with us again, in Cornwall. Your father and I would love it so much if you did, just please..."
It took me a moment to realise she had finally stopped to allow me an input, but before I could say a word of protest my father was speaking up in the background.
"Give me that Mary, let me speak to the boy."
I quipped my brow, slightly amused, besides the circumstances
"Malcolm, you there?"
Rather wearily I sighed. "Yes, dad."
A could almost picture his battered, scarred and seasoned face now, although many a times I had tried not to. His piercing blue gaze, of which my eyes were a milder take of his, was not an image in my imagination I could easily avoid however.
"What's all this Starfleet nonsense crap you've been jabbering on about to your mother, eh? She's in a right state 'cause of it, hasn't got a clue what you're saying!"
He coughed slightly and I winced with guilt, although I shouldn't have.
"Come home son, you know where you should belong."
I could almost feel the enamel wearing gradually away on my molars as I grinded away, and rather happily so.
"Dad, if you had been listening seven years ago then you'd know by now where I bloody well 'belong'-"
"Watch your tongue boy."
With a frown I battled on with my words, words long since needing to be released.
"I have a career in Starfleet now. I have phase pistols to modify, torpedoes to help align, a Captain to take orders from, a crew to work with, a team to command. I don't belong in England, or Malaysia, or wherever you're all moving to next. San Francesco's where I belong now, or out in space, but not with my family, as tragic as that may sound."
As I said my piece and succumbed to a stop I left along the telephone line a sombre, biting silence. Until my father spoke up once again, with the gruffness in his voice away and a vulnerability lining his tone instead, which I had never heard before. To say it simply frightening me would be an insulting understatement to the cold-blooded fear that gripped my pulse.
"Malcolm, you have to come home. You're ol' man's sick again. I don't know... it just doesn't feel right this time, doesn't feel like it's gonna pass. I can't stay like this and not see you again... just incase, y' know? You have to come home, y' have to let me see you again, eh? Son, please?"
At that very moment I almost let the call fall dead, for I could feel the guilt being served on a plate to me now down the line. I almost took what air there was in my lungs and turned it into a tone he would never hear as angry and ferocious as that again. A tone he would never forget, and one he would always know he helped create, one that he brought forth in such a man who would never dare to speak like so until he is pushed just that little too far to a dangerous edge.
Instead I bared it.
"What is it this time?"
Suddenly there was a hesitation. And so then I knew.
"My kidneys. Doctor says just one more whiskey will be sure to send them packing."
And then the unsure humour in his quaky voice confirmed it. He was lying.
"Dad, you're only seventy-two. And if there were any major problems you'd be in hospital faster than you could stick your arms and legs out to make sure they couldn't get you through the door. I can't come home, and quite frankly, unless I'm direly needed there, I don't want to. I love you, and mum, so much, but I'm just not ten anymore. I need a life of my own, and now that I have one, why make me give it up?"
Again as I let the question hang, and swung the guilt the other way, a silence evoked the call. With the bitterness gone and the sombreness relieved, I could sit back in my chair this time though and wait patiently instead for what would be a more preferable answer.
"We just miss you son."
Finally I smiled, and imagined that down the line he could sense it.
"Then pester Madeline instead. Drag her back from Malaysia for a few weeks; get to know her a little better. I'm just too busy here. I might have come out for a couple days, but the Admirals and Captains have me doing too much that it's near impossible."
A strange soft laughter floated through my eardrum and I frowned with a curious smile.
"Got you working hard, at least. Well... I'm glad."
I knew he wouldn't say 'proud', but he hardly had to. I could feel the warmth of his tear-strained smile radiating against my ear, and I was glad for it.
"I've got some new weapons to try out in the target room. I'll have to get back to you. But remember, phone that sister of mines. And let her know my regards."
Again he laughed in that unfamiliar and gentle way. I liked it.
"As long as we haven't seen the last of you, then I'll let you go, for now."
I nodded. "Thanks, dad. Give mum my regards too."
"Will do."
And with that he was gone.
It took me a few minutes to refocus again, to realise where I was and what I had just done - made peace with my father. It felt almost like I had rehearsed the phone call and pre-planned every battle move to get him to understand. As if I had been given sound advice and together with my initiative just delivered it like a well-remembered speech.
I shook my head. It was as absurd as my notions got, but the creeping déjà vu bothered me until, that is, it just as soon evaporated on the chime from the comm. at the door of my quarters. Rushing forward, simply glad to be doing something, I answered.
"Where are ye? Ah was told y' were supposed to be up in Tactical shootin' off rounds with plasma electricity or somethin'. Ah've got some interestin' news for ya."
Despite every bothered nerve of myself I broke out into a grin. "Alright Commander, keep your shirt on. I'll be right up."
I could sense the grin returned. "Good, good."
The comm. died and as quickly as that happened I forgot the churning déjà vu and began to pull on my uniform, happier with myself than I probably had been for a good seven years or so now.
. . . . . . .
Sweating palms, chewed bottom lip, nails running through my hair, nails jammed between my teeth; it's hardly like I had never apologised before, but this time... it felt like a sentence. Walking through the many corridors of quarters in Starfleet, passing people on the way, to whom I had to nod pleasantly to seeing as they all knew who I was, having to ride so many turbo lifts and pass so many windows of the outside world, I felt like I was doing the archaic death row walk, only with a far more painful execution waiting for me at the end than any needle or chair could be.
Travis. He had been so enraged that I couldn't have helped but feel a pulse of fright course through my veins, which had eventually rendered me speechless. I couldn't have helped but cower slightly at the infuriated flash in his dark, narrowed eyes, or twist in his lips, or shortness in his words before he had shut the door on me and turned deaf to my pleads when eventually I had caught my tongue back.
'No! I found out a long time ago that I don't raise my hopes with other people. Why I thought you'd be any better I don't know.'
After the outburst, and when I had walked away and began evaluating his words, I felt an all too natural wave of anger back at him. I pushed it past quickly though and realised, from his perspective, that he had every right to throw an outburst in my face, even if it had sent a sliver of tears down my flustered cheeks.
I had never seen anyone grow particularly close to Travis on Enterprise in the past seven years we had all been aboard together. He was generally well liked, but not generally well known. He was still something of an enigma, although that was not deliberate on his behalf. He was just never one to approach for a long conversation, or any intimate, detailed conversation in general.
Hell, even I had had my moments with the crew. I had shared conversations with T'Pol, and she had learnt a little more about me as an individual just as I had her. I knew Malcolm far better than I had seven years ago, and we often shared time and talks in the gym. I chatted regularly with Trip in the mess hall, and with Phlox on most of the rest of my time off. I even knew Crewman Kelly well enough that we had spent nights together in each other's quarters. But although I had always liked Travis for his upbeat youth and pure determination and hard-working nature, I had never really gotten known him, at all.
He must have felt for the few good days we had spent together so far that he was finally getting somewhere with someone. Certainly I felt we were building quickly on some dusty bond that had lain between us all this time but had gone almost completely untouched for the seven years we had served together.
And to myself I had to forcefully admit I felt quite taken away and smitten whenever he commented on my hair, or some of the past breakthroughs I had made with translations, or even my choice of cuisine for lunch...
Suddenly I stopped walking. Almost running in to me as she went the opposite way, one very young Engineer frowned and shook her head at my unexplained halt before turning a corner to mutter quietly to herself about me.
I was too busy looking and feeling puzzled to be bothered by her. My brow dropped quickly and I walked backwards over the thoughts I had just uttered. Had I really said 'smitten' to myself? In all my life I had never used the word other than when writing trashy romance tales about Cliff and Roseanne in my free-free time. Truly then I did not and could not feel 'smitten' with this enigma of a man who not a day ago had almost literally spat on my face and slammed a door on my nose.
Receiving yet more funny looks from passing staff I forced myself to move on with a lingering frown until finally I reached Travis's door, which was not more than a couple of doors down from where I had hit the breaks.
I raised my fist to the comm. and suddenly it trembled. Grabbing it with my other hand to steady myself I found next I had to suck in a deep, cooling breath before I suffocated on my overdone apprehension. Then, when eventually did I grab the nerve to ring the comm., the door opened just before I could.
We both started. Travis, looking ready to go somewhere with a handful of library disks and scrolls, gathered himself far quicker than I ever could and quickly made to shove past my side. As he did I blinked and scolded myself before I turned after him.
He started again when my hand landed on his shoulder and prevented him from going on any further. He spun on me but I stopped any outburst of words that he was more than likely going to utter with a genuinely sorry look.
"Would you just here me out?"
His left hand went to his temple and he rubbed it gently, as if relieving a headache. I had woken up with a mild one myself, but it had faded away to be replaced by the thundering skipping of my heart as I had remembered what I had to do today. I didn't know also though that he was rubbing away at an annoying déjà vu that had been conjured froth from those six words I had pleaded to him with.
"What?"
He may have tried to sound hostile but it was clear enough at least to me that he was prepared to listen through the slight throbbing of his headache atop the déjà vu.
"Look, I'm sorry. I was an absolute ass about point blank forgetting to come see you. I just got caught up in something."
Travis did not look impressed by the vagueness of my excuses, so pressed by a mildly angry look I went on.
"I met one of Phlox's sons, Aldon. He wanted to show me some things, show off a little I suppose, and you know I can't be rude and just walk away from something like that. The son was fanatically to see someone from the Enterprise crew, so I couldn't just go. But I should have cut it short, or I should have at least called you, I know. But you have to let it go now, and just let me know what you were going to tell me because it's driving me crazy now not knowing what it is."
I dared to smile, and rather sorely tempted him to as well. He kept his impulse to a twitch at the corners of his dark lips though, and I knew as quickly and simply as that that the apology was over and I had been forgiven.
It felt strange, as if perhaps it was too easy, as if it had been planned out. As if I had rehearsed this, or known exactly what I had to do, even though I hadn't.
My apprehension had been a waste of time though, something I knew for certain, and standing in front of Travis now, trying desperately to conceal a sudden shyness, I shrugged.
"Want to go to the mess hall and talk over breakfast then? Tell me the big news there?"
Finally Travis smiled, or more smirked. "Are you going to suddenly cancel on me before I agree?"
I mockingly gasped and then throwing a smile onto my face shoved him playfully.
"No... but I will race you."
And with that I was off, tearing forward towards the turbo lift, he only seconds behind at my heel. I had never intentionally flirted before, not in a long time anyway. To say it wasn't fun would have been a grave understatement to the fit of laughter I broke down into once in the turbo lift with Travis as we went to breakfast together and classed it as our first ever real date.
. . . . . . .
-Earlier That Day-
With a bolt and a fright she sat up, heart pounding, lips dry and brow hot. A tremor ran through her taut muscles and olive skin and she felt a flipping and churning in the deep crevices of her stomach. The air tasted stale on the quivering tip of her tongue and the shadows seemed to sit there and mock her as she almost shied away from them with a startled frown.
The emotion of fear was not something she was naïve to, and never before something she had appreciated such as she could with some human emotions. But this was not quite the same as fear, more a light-hearted passing of the sentiment, simply a mild and cruel shock in reality. Nonetheless it was unpleasant to have to bear as she quickly forced the steadying of her rushing heart before she slowly and carefully eased back down into bed.
The apartment was cool and calm, thus her environment had no reason to be blamed for her sudden awakening from an already unsettled sleep. Beyond the little glazed window of her bedroom the streets were all but empty, save the crows and cats that commonly littered the territory at night. Even the air itself had lain down to a peaceful sleep tonight. Everything but she herself was serene and settled.
It was four o'clock on a very early Sunday morning. T'Pol was vaguely aware of this and no more. She was unsure of the exact date, and her half-asleep mind could not find any logical prompt strong enough to make itself want to figure it out right at this present moment. She could feel the ignorance of a dreamless sleep creeping forth again, and welcomed it, until once again she sat up in a sharp and fast bolt of fright.
September 6th 2158. That was the date. And yet the last date she had been consciously aware of was September 9th 2158.
There was no denying it however. That was what the wall clock said, just at the bottom left corner of the slight blue sheen of the screen that caught the trickles of moonlight flirting in through the curtains. And the clock, being linked to the main control tower of timekeeping in London, could not possibly be wrong. Neither, she finally realised, could her returning memory.
It was blatantly clear now, oh yes. She remembered all too well what had happened; captured on Yulae's ship, interrogated about a matter she couldn't have hoped to have known about, killed by the Klingon's hammer and then as fast as she could register the blaring fact that she was dead she had been in the year 2264 with Daniels, and then later Jonathan.
The mistakes, the tampering of the timeline, the judge, her trial; all factors which they were now to help fall in to place to make the future work as it should again.
She felt the unfamiliar tang of a headache dawning, fuelled on by the even less familiar feelings of confusion and bewilderment; confusion because in her gut she knew this was too surreal to be logical, and bewilderment because it was a lot, if not too much, to input and process in no less than minus three days.
Thus why she threw off the blankets from her overheated body, placed her feet tenderly down on the cool carpet of the floor below and headed out to the living room.
Out here it was cooler still, and darker so, but there was a feeling of familiarity that brought forth a much-needed splash of comfort and ease.
She glanced over to her right. There hung the set of eerie silver blue drapes that were to captivate her curiosity enough tomorrow that she would go over to them at about this time in the morning, open them wide and find a balcony in which to step out onto with a slightly wary Jonathan and a content Porthos fifteen minutes later.
She felt temptation to go over and do what had not yet been done, to see if she couldn't awake him again and speak with him to gain much needed clarity. For although she continued to tell herself these were events that had already happened, but then were still yet to, she was far from convinced by herself.
She decided in the end against the action and continued out her original plan, to simply enter into his bedroom and wake him there to speak.
For many long, cold minutes after she had decided this, T'Pol stood at his bedroom door hardly daring to make a move. It was closed all the way and utterly silent inside, save one gentle, constant noise that she took to be his light snoring.
She could barely move and didn't have a reason why not. Again a heat across her brow and drought across her lips began to make her heart pound and muscles tense.
For a moment she was reliving the auditorium where they had watched the screens, clueless together as to why so many people where there and what they were waiting for. For a moment she remembered the silent, safe moment they had finally been able to share, just before it was interrupted by the answer to their queries, which had arrived on screen, and suddenly she felt an electric jolt run down her spine.
Then, chiding herself and shaking off the illogical apprehension, she put a hand to the door handle and opened.
He hardly moved, hardly seemed disturbed at all even as she made the hinges creek slightly and snapped the catch in door down again. Her foot stepped gingerly upon a stiff plank of wooden lino and there was a quiet moan from underneath her sole, but he simply scratched his nose upon hearing it and settled quickly down again.
Porthos, however, was up in a flicker of his four paws. His eyes alight and eager he jumped onto the end of the bed and with his tail running at impossible speeds he drew breath to bark in delight at his new companion. She lunged forward and grabbed his muzzle carefully, quickly sweeping a hand behind his head to pat him gently, instantly contenting him into silence.
She suddenly wondered why she had hushed the somewhat likeable dog. She would have to wake Jonathan up anyway, so why not have the dog do it?
She was undeniably nervous, but she was far from humble enough to admit it.
Perching herself very carefully on the edge at the end of his generously sized double bed, rather reluctantly T'Pol allowed his little beagle to climb over her thighs until he had settled himself quite happily between her knees, resting his chin on one before he heaved a sigh and lay still to allow her to carry on stroking him into silence.
Things stayed as such for a while, T'Pol carefully watching the digital clock on the bedside cabinet as the numbers morphed from one to another until it read that it was almost half past four and she found her legs had gone numb from the cold and the position in which she perched. Unable to restrain the urge to make herself more comfortable she moved further back along the end edge and as her knees rose to stretch Porthos sniffed and then whined in a pathetic protest. In an amazingly quick moment Jonathan was up and arguably awake on that small noise.
"Wha- Portho... T'Pol?"
As quick as he managed to mumble her name and sit up frowning, she stood up and moved away from the bed, standing both guiltily and meekly (he thought, although it was hard to tell in the grey darkness) at the door, waiting to see what enraged reaction he would dish upon her for watching him in such a vulnerable position. Certainly if the roles had been reversed she would not have appreciated his company as she slept at twenty-nine minutes to five in the morning.
For an achingly long moment there was a silence between them, one that echoed accusingly through the Vulcan's weak sense of human morality. Jonathan simply gazed at one bottom corner of his bed and continued to frown. Then finally, his eyes alight with doubting clarity and unease he looked up.
"It all happened, didn't it?"
Something akin to relief struck across T'Pol's face, but he continued to frown upon her with the speedy return of his memory, of which he trusted his significantly more than T'Pol did hers.
"You being caught by the Andorians, us going after them in Columbia, me coming aboard their ship, then Dulac, then..."
The last piece of his memory before Daniels slipped into place and he jumped from bed almost frightened, taking two neat long strides up to T'Pol who watched him with a mutual realisation as he protectively placed his hands upon her shoulders. He towered over her, easily overshadowing her entire lithe figure, although as ever she looked far from petite even beside him, and stood as confidently as she did confused with trembling, cold skin. He drew a deep, almost terrified breath and she quipped a brow.
"Yes, I believe it all did."
And with that she had nothing else to say. The firm but gentle grip he laid upon her shoulders stiffened for a brief moment, and she felt a rough tenderness that was reluctant to let go through fear of... something. Perhaps loss, she figured.
"And Daniels?"
She nodded quietly, finally finding herself able to take everything in stride with the level head her people were famed for having.
"And now?"
She looked back at the beagle calendar on his wall and nodded in its direction to prompt him to take a look at it. He did, then frowned, then slowly began to calm the wild confusion in his eyes as he took on the same acceptant frame of mind as her, everything making some strange, muddled sense now.
"Three and a half hours until your trial."
She did not nod this time, to save appearing as if she were patronising him. He finally understood for himself and seemed happier with the odd reality that was three days before - September 6th - again.
"I came in here to see if you had remembered what had happened, to help clarify the truth. Now that you have I will apologise for waking you and see you in a few hours. Goodnight."
For a second it looked as if he were about to let her go, as he stood with a sad glaze in his eyes and watched her turn with some unstable meekness which she tried so viciously to hide. Then just as she went to open the door with its old-fashioned door handle, he took her shoulder again and as assertively but respectfully as he could, turned her round.
"Wait, look..."
Something flickered into her neutral expression, something sad and tried that reflected all too well the past week and minus three days they had just been made to endure. Suddenly again he saw the Vulcan which he felt responsible for turning against her own people, and having her so hated by even her own family. He remembered again that she wasn't human, and recalled the terrible amount of times he had treated her assumingly and patronisingly as so.
He wondered, as he often did, why she was still here with him, and more harrowingly why she had been willing enough to go before the hammer that he still felt in all right should have struck him, whether now it mattered or not that it had happened as it had.
He smiled weakly in a sudden moment and took her unnaturally cold wrist in his large, rough hand.
"Sit, a minute. We need to talk."
Guiding her over to his bed he sat in the middle at the edge and beckoned for her to join him, of which hesitantly she eventually did.
"About what?"
Carefully he shook his head, smiling all the same with a genuine look of relief and ease now creeping into his own worn eyes.
"T'Pol. We've been through more bull this week than we would probably ever go through on an average month aboard Enterprise."
She quipped a brow.
"Okay, so I exaggerate. But for what was supposed to be a week of R&R before I went back to Starfleet and you... probably to Vulcan, it didn't turn out too well, did it? And you got the brunt of it, I'd say."
She had little to argue there...
"It's... still been one hell of a week though, with you. And although I can't vouch for you, if taken back to that party again and given the chance to uninvited you to my apartment, I'd have to say I couldn't. Maybe be a little more wary of the commencing week, but there's no way I wouldn't spend half the night, if not all of it, convincing you to join me to stay again. I probably couldn't face the apartment alone, or at least not without knowing I had the opportunity, again... to take you home with me."
She listened carefully to his words, reading between the awkwardness to see the true message he was trying and failing miserably to say. Many said she had an ear for doing this. With a quivering tongue laced with very humanlike apprehension she then answered back.
"I... agree."
Her brow sat high suddenly in self-confession and realisation to the truth as she thought over to herself how very much she too would be willing to do it all again - with a little more careful commencing, she agreed also.
Together their gazes sat on the floor below, both shy and both desperate to carry on talking despite how long they played on hesitation. Again Jonathan took the first brave words, with a slight frown as he pressed his palms into his knees and thought as he spoke.
"Do you remember, a few years back and a little after the Expanse, the day I confronted Trip... about-"
"Yes, I do. In the mess hall, you ended up in a fight with him, one I broke up."
With a guilty nod he confirmed her to be right.
"Yeah, then. T'Pol... do you know why... I acted like that?"
Only Porthos broke the long-suffering silence that followed the question by jumping onto the bed and settling himself amongst the unkempt sheets. T'Pol turned unsettlingly still and uncomfortable, almost distressed even.
Going beyond every timid instinct that screamed and begged and pleaded for him not to take it any further, Jonathan raised a hand to her cheek and stroked across it lightly.
"So you do know..."
Carefully she nodded.
"And you never said..."
When at last she drew the breath to speak she spoke a quiet, shaken tongue again.
"I believed the feels to be...'on and off', as I once overheard Trip say I. I was unsure of what to do, with knowing..." She trailed off.
"T'Pol..."
Adding to the constant bombardment of jerky hesitations in the conversation he took his hand to his chin and rubbed the prickly stubble that rested there wearily, as if already beginning to exhaust himself from the struggle to say what he wanted to say without directly saying what he felt for her. Finally though, with a shaken sigh, he got on with it.
"Am I wasting my time, with you, or is there any chance you could feel the same way?"
It was asked so suddenly there and then, finally, as he took the Band-Aid approach, that she could not help but feel herself lapsing into a somewhat stunned silence. She disliked being thrown, but felt she deserved it for avoiding confrontation of this after all these years, until now.
"T'Pol?"
She had been quiet for close to a five minute period, and grew increasingly pale and lost looking. As she faintly heard the calling of her name she raised her gaze to him again and he saw a bafflement he believed no other Vulcan, no matter how much of an emotional human they came across, could or ever would match.
"I--"
He didn't want to hear the answer, then, he decided. He didn't like the odds that the answer would sting until he keeled. So he leant forward cupping her fine line chin in one hand and dared, finally, after so many years of waiting for the 'right moment', to kiss her.
Falling back onto the bed together, never once did either dare to consider or doubt this was anything but the right and long anticipated thing to do. They were trapped in that great clique love, and they knew it.
. . . . . . .
Hoshi prized her perfect hearing, if anything because her career depended and thrived on it. Never did she listen to loud music, nor even let the engines of a car rev up when she was in either driver or passenger position. Hardly ever did she shout, or provoke people to shout at her. Televisions stayed low and she was never particularly a fan of boisterous children. It could only be noticed if one was good at picking up the subtle signs, but above all other aspects of her body, Hoshi looked after her hearing, and looked after it well.
"Travis, I don't think this was a very good idea!"
She hardly even noticed she was shouting to the point where her throat could easily cave as she tried to rise above the mess of noise around them. Isle after isle of concrete path that divided up row after row of steel mesh cages that penned up hundreds upon hundreds of eager, loud spoken dogs meant there was no escape from the chaotic soundtrack of the kennels around them. Hoshi and her eardrums were distressed beyond reckoning.
They had not yet walked past a dog, big or small, mongrel or pedigree, girl or boy who did not thunder towards them in their small cubical runs to greet them with yelps and barks and even the occasional deep growl. There wasn't a quiet relief in sight and Hoshi began to doubt her reasoning for ever wanting a dog.
"I think Porthos is a one off!" she continued to shout, as she had no choice trailing behind Travis who had become somewhat deaf. Deaf and also far more eager than her now to go pet-hunting. "I don't think there's another quiet dog in San Francisco except him!"
By curious coincidence they passed a beagle in his run. He was no less quiet than the booming presence of the Great Dane/Dalmatian cross in the hold next to him. Hoshi felt no urge whatsoever to approach him, despite his puppyish watery brown gaze and lolling tongue that made his maw appear in a half-smile. Travis however laughed as he pointed out the little message that went with the dog, turning back to Hoshi to make sure she saw it too.
His name was Porthos. He had been named after the legendary beagle himself.
Itching to cover her ears and move on Hoshi gave Travis a nudge with her elbow as she pressed her palms to her ears.
"How about we get a cat?"
He frowned. "Hoshi, where are we going to get a bat?"
She gave him a dark, non-amused smile before moving on again.
Turning a 360degree angle Travis began to traipse on down the last row of cages which were no less quiet than the thirty or so they had already waded through. Hoshi had clearly lost hope, stopping at the bumpy starting edge of the new concrete path and remaining there.
"Travis, can we go yet? I want a cat!"
He shrugged to show that he couldn't hear her and continued moving down the last fifteen or so dogs on display, still content to be looking.
It was in the third to last cage that he found her.
Hoshi continued to watch from the mouth of the pathway, head tilted as she watched Travis stop suddenly and take great interest in that third to last cage down. Enough interest even that he walked up to the mesh barrier and knelt down, offering his hand to a wet, black nose, which sniffed warily. With his other hand he quickly waved over Hoshi, eyes alight and excited. With a sigh and a slouching of her shoulders, ever reluctant she did anyway.
"What is--"
Quite rightly as she came up behind Travis and sighted what he had, she stopped shouting and moaning looked on with a melting heart.
All black, not a trace of another colour on her save the auburn rings that trimmed her lonely pupils and pink soles of her paws, Hoshi looked upon an English Cocker Spaniel with an utterly silent temperament and a curious gaze. For Travis, as he looked back and then moved to the side to let Hoshi though, he felt it was safe enough to say they had just found Hoshi's new companion.
"Name's Angel."
He stood and read the little strip of cardboard pinned to her run.
"Female, four years old, little known background, sweet, laid back temperament with no known bark. Hoshi, sounds like your dog."
She turned round, already totally devoted as the Spaniel lifted a paw to try and reach out for a scratch.
"What?"
Travis smiled, shaking his head as he was finding himself as devoted to the woman at his feet as the woman was to the dog whose tongue was at her fingers.
"I'll go get a kennel hand to see if we can take her a walk."
"What?"
"I--" Travis jumped as a kennel hand approached from behind, her smile as wide as Hoshi's growing affection for the dog.
"So, we finally have a little interest in Angel."
Hoshi frowned. "Pardon?"
Pulling a set of keys from her belt and a leash from her pocket the assistant held them up questioning through signal if Hoshi wanted the dog out, to which she nodded an eager yes. In response, the colourful blue leash captivating the Spaniel's hope, her stumpy excuse for a tail waving back and forth quickly, her tongue lolling and her maw smiling.
Travis stood back, arms crossed and smile in place as he watched owner and pet meet and bond for the first time. He had absolutely no doubt now they would be leaving with that dog, and he just had to remind his mother to remind his brother to stock up high on anti-allergy tablets.
Yes, life on the Horizon with Hoshi and Angel would be a life he had never expected and one he would never dare trade for now.
Only the message waiting for him on his Communicator on his belt, which went unheard in the racket they bared that morning, begged to differ.
. . . . . . .
Perfection is a funny word. Namely because it has been argued for so long that it is a word that describes nothing, as nothing is 'perfect'. No face, no voice, no piece of art, no sheet of writing, no score of music, no line or circle. No creation, no moral, no theory, no muse is ever perfect. Never has been, and no matter what tweaks are applied, never will be. Faults shadow everything; haunt every self-proclaimed writer, every freelance artist, every businessman, teacher, preacher, religion and general soul. Some would even say every moment in life, no matter what bliss shrouds it, always has some dark mark following it.
Jonathan would have died that morning arguing that perfection can exist.
A warmth pulsated through his entire body that made his throat tingle and his eyes water. Every muscle was worn and relaxed, every bone slack, every inch of skin glowing.
He had never seen a sky born into such a shade of luxurious blue before, never seen an autumn sun shine with such spectacular effort. Never heard the birds sing so tunefully, never seen the shade of white on his walls shimmer with such a graceful silvery tinge.
He had never before held a body so preciously close to him with such a fierce protection, and never felt such joy to be sharing an average September morning with anyone like this. His bedroom had become a utopia with the vibes of perfection they set off which cracked their way into every corner and across every dusty shelf.
He never wanted to disjoint from her. If told he would have to stay here like this for the rest of his life to follow, he knew he would die a happy man. She slept away, slightly curled into herself with the arch of her back pressed into his bare chest. She was so warm she very nearly radiated with her natural body heat. Her hands sat just under her chin, her mouth slightly ajar and her fingers slightly bent and tangled into each other. He carefully slipped one arm under hers and took her left hand in his right. She barely stirred.
Battling with his blurry hazel eyes he forced himself to look at the clock on his beside table almost against his own will. They were late for the trial, late being a slight understatement. At quarter to eleven, it was unlikely they would make it to Sausalito in fifteen minutes from now. Jonathan sighed and ignored the time, going back to drinking in the golden warmth of the moment.
The Communicator that sat beside the clock sprung to life in cruel, short bursts of infuriating noise. He jumped and T'Pol jerked awake underneath his arm. With hazy vision she followed his outstretched arm as he grabbed the silver device, but her gaze stopped as it fell upon the clock and her lids widened.
"Yes?"
Jonathan wasn't much in the mood for making an effort to be polite to his morning caller.
"Jon, we're all waiting for both you to make an appearance, if you wouldn't mind doing so any time soon. The Vulcans are getting edgy."
"The Vulcan's are always edgy Admiral."
T'Pol threw him a look, to which he shrugged an apology.
"Where are you? Tell me you're on your way at least."
The Captain's guilty silence told the Admiral everything he needed to know.
"Fine, I'll tell them there's been a hold up on the roads. Just get down here as soon as you can, if you actually want to see T'Pol as your continuing First Officer that is."
Jonathan could tell it wasn't only the Vulcan on edge. He smiled slightly to himself.
"Yes sir. I apologise. We'll be leaving a.s.a.p."
On that he hung up and eased back into bed, muttering complaints to himself as he pulled the duvet up from their knees. T'Pol resisted temptation however and sat up, Jonathan's borrowed T-shirt drowning her slight figure as she hung her legs over the edge of the bed, preparing to get up.
"We really must go now."
He closed his eyes to brace a deep sigh into his lungs before opening up his vision to her brilliant figure again, smiling slightly.
"Perhaps we should dress first."
She quipped a brow as he grinned. "Of course..." There was a look in his eyes and an edge to his smile that she felt she should be wary of. Indeed she was right.
He sat up and carefully but quickly grabbed for her waist with enough strength to pull her to him, forcing her to lie back in bed with him as he fell down onto his side again.
"We already know what the sentence is going to be now. Maybe it was destined we be a couple of hours late. Thus us being late assures that this Captain Kirk is born one-hundred and six years later."
She was far from convinced, but more than tempted to 'play along' with the idea. Settling back into his hold she felt the warmth that their bodies shared coaxing her to close her eyes and enjoy the morning and its freshness for the one more hour it would be here. As he felt her relaxing in his arms he buried his nose into the thicketed of her hair and smiled.
Things would have felt like they were moving far too fast, if not for he realised he had been pining for this a lot longer than just during the past week. Turning against his own best friend, putting his ship in jeopardy, postponing missions, smashing protocol, fighting tooth and nail with the High Command, with Starfleet even for the past seven years; all things he had done in sake of her, because he had always subconsciously cared for her more than he would ever have admitted, up until less than even a week ago.
"Jonathan?"
He pulled himself out of his thoughtful daze and looked down at her forehead.
"Yeah?"
"We really must get ready to leave."
Feeling her waist slip away from his hold he sighed heavily and felt defeat looming.
"Yeah..."
She bent down and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. "I apologise for being so edgy."
He smiled and shook his head as she made her way out and into the other bedroom where her collection of formal robes lived.
She was the most perfect decision he had ever made, and he truly would die defending that.
. . . . . . .
Trip and Malcolm poured over the messages sent through their Communicators. Each glowed in a delighted shock.
"They want Enterprise to carry on in another mission."
Trip threw his buddy a smile from the corner of his mouth.
"Ah know that Malcolm. Ah got sent the exact same message here as you."
"They're holding a meeting for the senior crew at sixteen hundred hours today."
"Malcolm..."
"What do you reckon it is that's so important they couldn't send Columbia's crew out to do it?"
Trip shrugged, eventually getting up from sitting at the edge of the railings that hung over the main Engineering room, leaving Malcolm to swing his legs back and forth slowly on his own as the occasional Ensign walked by underneath him with a curious gaze up.
"Ah've got no idea but ah think ah'll start shinin' ma boots for this meetin'."
As he grinned on Malcolm stood up with him, sharing the idea.
"Think Hoshi will be up for giving us one of her famous five minute cuts?"
He tentatively ran his fingers through his well kempt golden streaked mousy brown hair.
"If she ever comes back with Travis from that pound then maybe, yeah."
Trip too was now subconsciously pawing through his slightly longer than usual cut of dull blond, before he suddenly spotted and then stopped another officer about to pass underneath the railing.
"Hey, Kallie!"
Malcolm jumped as Trip leant over the railings and shouted down to a young Lieutenant, an inspiring Engineer who was tipped to be Head Engineer on Columbia if a one Commander Martin Cullen's physical did not check through. Guiltily Trip felt himself rooting for that twist of fate to happen, having great faith and admiration for the woman's skills, which easily matched his own when he was at that age.
"Yes Commander?"
Malcolm sighted the fresh faced twenty-something peering up in answering her superior's call, almost with hope as if wishing he had the news on Cullen she wanted so desperately to hear.
"Can ya supervise the core realignments for me this afternoon? Duty calls somewhere else ah'm afraid."
Hardly looking downhearted at all over the false alarm she nodded and smiled and saluted. "Yes sir."
He beamed. "Thanks, ah owe ye."
"And I'll keep you to that."
Trip turned back to Malcolm, dusting his hands off. "Well, Lieutenant, duty calls. Why don't you give Hoshi a call for us?"
Walking off from there it seemed to Malcolm he had no choice in the matter.
"I really missed taking orders off of you Commander, you know that?"
. . . . . . .
Two lone Ambassadors stood outside the auditorium, side-by-side, solemn faced and tensely muscled. Those whom they were waiting upon were now no less than two and a half spectacular hours late, something that impressed no one involved in this caper.
The eldest of the two Ambassadors, by only a decade or so, turned to the younger with a heavy sigh, his murky grey gaze looking on at the door they stood by, longing to go in and disappear within the audience. For the last time he ran over his protocol.
"Remember Soval, she is to return back to Vulcan, there is no leeway about that. Here she is a menace, she is in the company of those she is begin to become too much like, there is too much influence, and if she is to run amok anymore than she is sure to have others following her example in time. The last thing we want is another V'Lar staining the race."
Soval nodded briefly, almost wearily. "I understand Taron. Now I suggest you take your place inside in the event that your daughter does actually decide to show."
As he emphasised a tiresome 'does' that was exactly what happened; the grand front entrance to the Compound opened and two of the predominant banes of his life sauntered in, as if already being two hours later affected their need to rush in no way whatsoever.
As Soval turned to usher Taron on he discovered the powerful Ambassador was already gone, and so with a rare sigh he turned back to watch two quietly confident individuals make their way to the lift and up to the Ranking Conference room. Soval allowed a shiver of distaste to poison his calm facade before he straightened up and faced the opening to the lift not more than fifty meters down a perfectly moulded grey hallway.
"Captain Archer, I do not remember stating that your presence was required at this hearing."
They were not two steps out the elevator when Soval addressed the neatly presented Captain with something uncannily like a smirk in his tone. Jonathan returned the remark with an all too knowing smile.
"No, you didn't state, she did."
Soval tilted his head in something parallel to a frown as T'Pol stepped before Jonathan.
"Oh?"
Her brow flashed up and down in a brief second and Soval looked on almost aghast at witnessing the very humanlike gesture.
"He has every right to act as a witness Soval. You understand that right cannot be denied or we have case enough to appeal against this whole trial."
T'Pol turned briefly back to Jonathan and they shared an edgy look, as if all too keen to carry on with the ordeal, all too keen to see themselves victorious. All too cocky, Soval thought with a sneer. This case had been resolved months ago. She would be seeing her homeland far faster than anyone could stop it.
"You are two and a half hours late. This will not bode well with the judge."
T'Pol nodded. "I know." She then extended a polite robe laden arm for him to step forward before her. "Ambassador."
After holding a hesitant look on her, Soval went forth and the Captain and the rogue Vulcan followed on behind together into the blue tinted auditorium, all three with quietly confident hopes.
Silence. That was what shook the room as she stepped in, Soval and Jonathan promptly ignored as grey and brown Vulcan eyes alike pierced hard into her disgraced figure. Some felt their fingers trembling in shame that she had to be known as one of their own, others found they could not even bring themselves to look as such a bold, repulsive figure. Emotion and spirit without restraint leaked in gushes from her weak self-control, and her tattered ears, which, with her hair pulled up again, were on full show, were now a famous symbol of her dismissed heritage.
Everything, the regal silence included, was as it had been first time round, T'Pol noted, from where her father and Admiral Forrest sat to where Jonathan chose to be seated to the ten high-ranking High Command Respectfuls acting as a jury. All as it was, except for one other individual.
The judge came out as T'Pol took her place. Ashen faced and quivering slightly in his fingertips it was clear to see his entire life and teachings he held dear had been twisted amok by the presence of Daniels' supposed partner Alex last night. He was now one of only two Vulcans in their race to be shown the solid, harsh truth that time travel was indeed possible. How, scientifically, T'Pol herself still could not formulate, but she had been given proof enough through act to convince her it could be done.
It seemed the judge was barely, but just enough, convinced so that when he shared a look with T'Pol it was a reluctantly knowing one, and T'Pol saw finally that everything would turn out just as Daniels had promised.
The Vulcan at the door with his PADD confirmed the nature of the trial and the judge, the archaic strength in his voice diluted somewhat, reiterated what T'Pol was regulated to understand. Then he asked the standard question.
"And do you wish to return to the High Command with your former ranking position as Sub Commander?"
Where once she hesitated T'Pol now looked on with defining certainty, piercing a rebellious gaze into her father and shaking her head once.
"No."
Amidst the tight gasp the room seemed to take in as a whole, the sprinkling of sharp tension and the looks passed from one rule-abiding Vulcan to the other, T'Pol handed over her resignation and the judge confirmed it.
Jonathan sat back in his chair, left ankle up on the opposing thigh and his arms crossed, keeping restraint not to leap forward this time with his impulsive nature. He hoped this time there would be no need for that.
To his far right Forrest stood up.
"If it so pleases the hearing and the accused, we would like to make an appeal that T'Pol be given permission to take up post with Starfleet instead, resuming work as First Officer under the rule of Captain Archer on the starship Enterprise NX-01 for recent future missions."
Maxwell quickly threw Jonathan a look, and with good reason. Daniels had mentioned to Jonathan that he would get his ship back, that part of last night's escapade he remembered well, but it made the Captain's muscles twitch and his heart pound no less excitedly to actually hear it. The look ordered that he keep himself controlled and quiet and that they would talk about this later. T'Pol remained passive.
The judge gave Forrest a respectful nod, ignoring with a return of colour to his face now, the urgent fidgeting of the former Sub Commander's father, who sat impatiently at the back.
"Then your sentence is thus: You are no longer recognised by the High Command as a member in their ranks,"
Jonathan's leant forward impatiently,
"and are instead bound by duty to Earth until it is ordered by your new superiors in Starfleet that you can leave, for any scheduled mission or otherwise. Session dismissed."
And as quick and effortlessly as that, for the second time round it was over.
Despite how much protest this rule would most likely receive on a later date, the Vulcans present for now began to imminently stand up and leave, as if almost happy just to abandon things as they were and return to whatever work or task had been put on hold for this. T'Pol wasn't going to stop any of them.
Stepping off the podium she shared one last suffering look with the still bewildered judge. A simple nod was all he needed to tell him though that she was eternally grateful and, despite the logical instincts that screamed murder to him now, he had done the right thing. She then left to seek out Jonathan who stood eager and hopeful beside his Admiral. She never managed to reach as far as that however, first time round.
"If you believe bribing a judge means the end of this T'Pol, I am afraid you are terribly mistaken."
A powerful grip wrapped itself around her forearm, biting harder as she struggled in a knee-jerk protest.
"There was no bribe involved in this Taron."
Neither looked the other in the eye, only stared with an odd burning hatred over the others shoulder, their lips barely moving as they spoke in rough, assertive tones. Jonathan had not noticed. The promise of his ship back was too captivating to distract him from the proposal Forrest was spelling out now, the exact one Daniels had already filled them in on.
"Bribes, threats, promises; whatever the cause for his turn was I will it find out, and I will make sure you run amok and disgrace your family no more."
T'Pol scowled. "When last I checked, I saw no shame in my mother's eyes."
The father sniffed. "Perhaps you should look harder when next you come across her."
"Well that will be no time soon, for as I'm sure you've heard I'm due on another assignment aboard Enterprise."
"That Captain will be your ultimate downfall."
"And if by downfall you mean freedom from an overruled life, then he already has been."
With that she pulled her arm from his crushing grip and heeded he and his threats no more.
It was by now that Jonathan noticed the silent confrontation. She prepared herself to ease his worried glance as he watched Taron take leave with a frown.
"It was simply my father, offering some departing words before I left."
Jonathan watched as she smoothed out her opulent bronze sleeve, as ever far from convinced.
"And what's the bet I'll enjoy his company as he follows our asses through space just as much as I have done Soval's."
She pleaded him a look and he sighed.
"Sorry. I'll be civil."
She pleaded him another look.
"I will!"
"T'Pol." Forrest came between them, smile wide and eyes anticipating. "Finally, we truly get to call you one of our own now."
T'Pol nodded slightly. "I appreciate what you have done to allow this situation to happen."
He held out a hand for her to take. "Not as much as I'm sure we'll appreciate whatever you'll do for us in return."
With simple courtesy she took the hand and shook it briefly, no more keen to make physical contact with most than she ever had been before. A handshake she felt though was the least of what she owed he and his people.
"Now, we have escorts waiting to take us back to Starfleet and a mission to fill the crew in on I believe."
Jonathan and T'Pol managed a swift shared glance, and in the second she flickered her gaze to him, he believed he saw her smile the most beautiful and subtle of smile.
"Come on Captain," the smile could not be taken from Forrest's own expression, "I have a crew to reunite you with."