Author's note: I smell trouble a-brewing! It's time to come clean. This piece of fiction includes T/T'P flashbacks, but isn't really the point of the story. ShippyGirl's comments are more in line with what I had in mind, mostly because I'm an avid A/T'P-er. I tried to be true to E2 and the words that Old T'Pol told the younger one though.
To the point of AntiArcherTPol's comments, this fiction will never have T'Pol declare she didn't love Trip. That would be absurd.
And finally on the note of Hoshi's children's names – my friend and I couldn't decide it was Toru and Yoshiko or Toto and Yoshiko. If the name is something else – my humblest apologies.
Nothing but TimeThings Change
Chapter 9
The events of last night plagued Archer, preventing him from sleeping. He'd decided while tossing and turning to be more careful about his relationship with T'Pol, promising to maintain purely a professional relationship … just like he'd done years ago when they'd entered the expanse. Sure, something would be missing in his day – he loved being rebuked by T'Pol, liked their quiet banter and enjoyed discussing intake manifolds, duty rosters and ship's business.
Well, things change. He couldn't take the information back and he didn't want to. They'd just muddle through this, as they'd gotten through so many other things, at least that's what he hoped.
Nervously, he awaited her arrival, contemplating what she would say or how she would react. At 0800 sharp, she strolled into his Ready Room for their morning briefing. Bringing a mug of warm chamomile tea to her lips, she uttered, "I was thinking about your request take the engines offline for maintenance. I know Michael would …."
With a sigh, he realized everything was going to be okay. It was part of her routine to glide in, sip hot tea and mention how her super computing brain had resolved a problem.
Actually, Jon had expected her to go on as if the incident hadn't occurred, although he wasn't sure he could. It terrified him to have his confession out in the open, and he doubted he'd be able to forget it, even if she could go on as if it didn't happen. And at the same time, there was nothing to left to say on the matter. He loved her. She didn't return those feelings. That was that.
How did he know she'd carry on as if it never happened? He could always read her, understand what she was thinking and have the words worked out on how to influence her … maybe even before Trip could. He'd known about her trellium addiction before him, her Pa'nar and other various tidbits mostly because he had a connection – a bond of friendship – that seemed to transcend gender, age, race, species and just about everything else.
When T'Pol was pregnant, Archer was the first to know … besides T'Pol. She'd been on the Bridge, working diligently. Glancing up, he'd noticed how green and radiant her skin had been the past few days. Suddenly, she'd swooned near her chair and he'd rushed to her side and helped her to Sickbay. When she'd fainted at her arrival, Archer blurted out that Phlox should check to determine whether she was with child. Neither parent had told him they were trying to conceive, he just … knew. Just like he'd known Lorian was going to be a boy, how T'Pol had come down with a rare form of Nefratic fever several years ago and a range of other things that didn't make sense.
"Sorry, what have you been thinking about?" he asked, interrupting her.
Furrowing her eyebrows, she began to describe everything again.
Things between Archer and T'Pol were fine; things between Archer and Lorian were awkward. Archer felt his uncle-like relationship with the boy dwindle and suffer. The young man seemed to harbor resentment – it was understandable. He was young and his father had been dead less than two years. If Archer was faced with the same scenario at Lorian's age, no doubt he'd be just as upset and hurt. What complicated matters – Lorian was half-Vulcan. He couldn't exactly yell at Archer or call him out to a fight to prove his manhood or protect his father's name. Instead, Lorian avoided the captain and suppressed most of his emotions. Jon tried to bring it up a few times, but the boy doggedly ignored him and the captain decided the kid would come around when and if he was ready.
Still sadder, Lorian was no longer interested in becoming captain. He stopped immediately listening to logs, analyzing command decisions or reading some of the astronomy books Archer had given him. It was unfortunate, the kid had leadership skills, as well as an innate talent for problem solving – he always seemed to know the right course of action. And, even at 16, he felt responsible for others … which seemed to make the perfect candidate to learn the ropes of being in charge, even better than his own son – who oddly enough had a pension for engineering, or his daughter who's only interest at the time was dressing her dolls … or becoming a princess. He was pretty sure, though, she'd grow out of that stage.
Answering his first officer's questions – he'd agreed to the engine repairs and various other ship duties. The conversation was strictly professional. Before T'Pol walked out to resume her daily duties, she hesitated at the door.
"Your friendship has always meant a great deal to me," she commented.
It was clear she didn't understand that getting a major rejection took time to get over. But, bringing up her feelings and trying to bridge the gap between them was part of the reason he'd come to love her in the first place.
He nodded. "Your friendship means a lot to me, too."
She opened the door and stepped out to the science station.
Chapter 10
After a few months had passed, Enterprise was faced with the two-year anniversary of Trip's death. Last year, the mood on the ship was unbearable, this year it was somber … in other words, it was awful. Worse, a bizarre coincidence popped up – they needed to send a shuttle pod to a nearby planet to take readings. Archer admitted he didn't like the happenstance, but said they had to get over the event and carry on.
When Archer'd delivered the news to the crew, T'Pol had noticed the Bridge crew held their breaths. When he'd told them he'd be the one to collect the data by himself, she'd held hers. Vulcans didn't believe in luck or fate, but the fluke was eerie, even to her. Something in her gut, as Trip would've said, had indicated he shouldn't go.
Unable to shake the feeling, she watched him enter the turbolift and head off to the planet. Possibly, it was his admission about his feelings that gnawed at her. Like Sim's confession, it made her feel alive and feminine, although she was loath to admit it to herself. Although they'd resumed their friendship, she felt his eyes continue to linger on her long after it should've and possibly she enjoyed it.
Vulcans, she'd determined long ago, didn't need someone to care about them, but that didn't prevent her from falling into Trip's arms and wanting to stay there. And it seemed to give her some satisfaction now.
'Illogical,' she chided herself as his voice nudged her from her musings.
"Shuttlepod One ready to disembark."
Malcolm's voice wavered slightly. "Be careful, sir."
"Will do, Malcolm."
The descent to the planet Sinara was textbook – nothing remarkable happened and he collected the samples and headed back. The ascent back to the ship was an entirely different matter.
T'Pol squirmed unVulcanly in the captain's chair, perched on the edge, eyeing the screen, and waiting for an explosion or other disaster. As Archer's shuttle neared the ship, she felt a sense of relief. An alarm buzzed at Reed's station and he glared at his console as Archer's voice came over the comm.
He calmly reported, "I seem to have a leak."
T'Pol stood and crossed over to Malcolm as he delivered the bad news. It wasn't good. Something had punctured the outer hull, possibly on his escape from the planet's orbit and the shuttle was losing oxygen. Immediately, she began to pace.
To break the tension, Archer joked, "Could someone remind me to equip all shuttles with A.V. suits?"
"You'd die of hypothermia before you died of lack of oxygen," she said.
Before she could give him any calculations about that eventuality, he said, "I don't plan on dying any time soon."
It was at that moment, she felt not only a sting of Trip's death, but … what it would be like to loose him as well. She recalled him supporting her, checking on her frequently and being there completely for her and Lorian after Trip's death. If anyone understood the hurt caused by the death of a spouse, it was Archer.
The human had a remarkable skill for always being there when she needed him, but since the death of her bond mate, he'd been even more so. There was one night, in an incredible moment of weakness, she'd awakened him to tell him all the reasons she loved Trip. She wanted someone to hear, someone who understood – a friend. Her son, although precious, had school and would never appreciate the reason for cataloguing these things, but Archer might.
And she wasn't disappointed. A bleary-eyed man with gray hair jutting in all directions greeted her at the door and despite his appearance, walked down to the Mess Hall with her to hear her epiphany. His bare feet padded against the floor, his tank was askew and his pajama bottoms were wrinkled and … yet he came anyway.
He climbed into the seat across from her, examining her and waiting for her to tell what was on her mind.
"It occurred to me tonight why I loved Trip."
"T'Pol …."
"He was emotional …. Did you realize every time he saw the movie Shane, he cried?"
He chuckled quietly. "I liked that about him."
A raised eyebrow met his remark as she continued. "He was impulsive."
"You can say that again."
"Do you realize no one on Vulcan has blonde hair. I always thought his hair looked like the desserts in the Tarak region of my planet. His eyes were a shade of blue that reminded me of your planet's seas."
"Why are you going through this list?" he asked.
Barely able to speak, she began, "I sometimes felt he was the more giving in our relationship." After delivering this information she looked down at the table, boring a hole into it.
A hand reached over to her and gripped it gently. "Trip knew you loved him."
"I didn't have a chance to tell him that day." Chastising herself she corrected, "Rather, I didn't tell him."
"You didn't need to tell him, I'm sure he knew."
"We had an argument the night before. He wanted to bring Lorian with him on the excursion and I refused."
Frowning, he swallowed and gripped her hand a little more firmly.
"I didn't know," he said.
"He wanted our son to see a planet and feel it beneath his feet. I indicated he wasn't old enough and was concerned Lorian would miss school."
He heaved a sigh as she placed a hand over his. A few tears clung to her eyes without spilling and she whispered, "I can't imagine if I'd lost them both."
"No, I can't either."
After a few moments of silence, Archer said, "You made a great couple. Complemented each other well. He was crazy about you. He told me the day before he was going to propose to you; he was so excited and nervous. I convinced him you'd say yes."
Her eyes remained focused on the table in front of her as she tried to reign in her control.
"He was definitely happiest when he was with you."
She remained silent.
"I liked Trip's sense of humor. He had a way of telling a joke, same one I'd tell, but getting a bigger laugh. God, and the stories about the Tucker family." Giving a purring laugh, he said, " I don't know if he told you about his family's dog – Barney."
"The basset hound who apparently howled to a song by a performer named … Alvis."
Laughing a little harder, he corrected, "Elvis ---"
Her eyes slowly met his and she provided a silent thank you, by way of reeling off more information.
"He was impossible. Stubborn."
Agreeing, Archer said, "Remember how he insisted he was going to move nearly 2 tons of sand from one end of the cargo bay to another for your wedding? He wanted it to be perfect."
A smile greeted her. "There's no doubt in my mind that he loved you, T'Pol. And there's no doubt in my mind he knew you loved him."
After using the grappler hook to recover the pod unsuccessfully several times, Archer's shivering voice broke over the comm, encouraging them to keep trying. T'Pol's mind noted he was undoubtedly colder than he was letting on. That was it; it was time to recover him.
Her voice wavered on the comm. "Jonathan, perhaps we should transport you …."
Reed said, "Jon, you're a small target, but I think we're getting closer."
T'Pol disagreed. She was betting some of the effects of hypothermia had already set in. With the size of the hole and the frigidity of space flooding in, he'd probably already lost feeling in his extremities.
After watching T'Pol's face, Reed gave in. "The transporter it is."
Archer asked with bemusement, "I'm within distance, right?"
Reed gave a silent chuckle, "Yes, sir. You're in range."
The three worked out the minutia and plotted how to get him back aboard safely; the big question was the transporter itself. The punctured hull of his shuttle prevented a solid lock, so T'Pol decided to personally work the transporter controls, knowing she was the most qualified person to do so. She jogged down corridor after corridor and set the device, triple checking it. As her hands gripped the nozzles, she tightened every muscle in her body. A blue stream of light swirled particles haphazardly and then transformed into a man in his late fifties who was sporting a blanket.
"I was starting to feel like a popsicle," he kidded with a lopsided grin.
She raised a single eyebrow.
Waiting for a few beats, he said, "Thanks."
With that, he nonchalantly stepped off the platform and brushed past her saying something about needing some coffee to warm up.
Irritating. Thrill seeking. Foolhardy. Bold. No one else would have the hubris to take a shuttle today.
But all these characteristics made him her friend and an excellent commander, possibly better than even a Vulcan one. He'd proven to the crew, yet again, he was luckier than anyone else in the known universe and completely indestructible. Jonathan Archer was larger than life.
And, he may've done something else purely by accident – proven how indispensable he was to her personally. Really he always had been.
With the trace of a frown, she admitted he was not … unattractive. She'd noticed, he'd grown more distinguished looking – gray hair replacing strands of brown and more pronounced wrinkles surrounded his eyes. His body hadn't sagged with age, on the contrary, he seemed as physically fit as he was nearly twenty years ago.
So what if he was attractive? That certainly didn't change their relationship. To not notice he was aesthetically pleasing would've been illogical. Dismissing the thought, she caught up with him.
"I'll walk with you; I'd like to debrief with you on the situation."
Giving a brief nod, he shuffled away, grumbling under his breath about needing something to warm up because he was freezing his ass off.
Closing her eyes, she realized it felt good to hear his voice. Still, it proved nothing. He was her friend, and she reasoned with herself she cared for him only in that capacity. Period.
Chapter 11
A few months after the shuttle incident, T'Pol's friendship with Archer continued without a bobble. Her son continued to remain uninterested in command and began tearing through the entire engineering database in one PADD after another.
She'd begun leading a class on some of the Vulcan martial arts – it helped her connect with Lorian on a Vulcan tradition, kept her figure sleek, assisted with her meditation (which after exposing herself to trellium was always more difficult) and provided her an opportunity to reinforce friendships with some of the other crewmen.
While leading a class in the middle of the gym, people ran on the treadmill behind her, which hummed quietly under her voice, or lifted weights. Today was no different, except she had a new student – Toru Hayes. The boy had mostly the best of both genes – his hair was dark and slightly wavy, his eyes were a golden brown and his skin was Asian. He had an interest an aptitude in language and an interest in martial arts, weaponry and battle. Unfortunately, he didn't have his father's coordination, possibly because he was only fifteen. He was tall and gangly, as if he hadn't filled out into his lanky frame.
The class broke into groups and T'Pol decided to work with Toru while the other, more experienced members, sparred.
"I'm pleased you were able to join us today," T'Pol commented.
Toru smiled, "Me, too. Thanks for talking to mom about it. She thinks I'm going to end up hurting myself or someone else."
"The art takes a great amount of concentration and discipline. I believe for a boy your age, it should prove valuable."
He laughed. "Yeah, once she thought it would help me with my homework, she decided it was okay."
The Vulcan gave a slightly amused expression and demonstrated a block, bending her elbow and sweeping her arm in front of her face.
"This is known as the Sterek pose. He was a pacifist, one of the first followers of Surak. It is believed he created this move because he did not wish to fight. It can help defend against a kick or a punch."
Toru smiled and tried the move, but clumsily flung his arm foreword.
T'Pol showed him again. "Like this. Remember, the primary skill of this art is concentration and exact movement."
The boy tried again. Since the move was fundamental to the instruction of more complicated moves, T'Pol decided to take a chance.
"You understand how to kickbox?"
"Yeah," he said. "Malcolm has shown me a couple of moves Dad doesn't know about."
"Very good. Please proceed to try and hit me."
Skepticism fell on the young man as she clarified. "You may do so anytime you're ready."
He came at her and she easily blocked a punch.
"Did you see how was able to do that?"
Toru agreed. "Yes. That's cool."
"Try again," T'Pol encouraged. "This time, try a kick."
At that instant, something caught her attention. Henry Archer entered the gym and crossed hurriedly over to his father who was running on a treadmill. The boy looked slightly exasperated and his father stepped off the machine with a frown, dabbing his face with a towel.
Suddenly, a foot smacked her in the midsection with a crunch, knocking the wind out of her and shoving her to the ground. Activity in the gym came to a standstill as Lorian rushed over to her.
"Mother, are you all right?" he asked.
"I believe I've cracked a rib," she said, staring up at her son.
"Mrs. Tucker, I'm so sorry," Toru explained, kneeling at her side.
Breaking through the crowd, Archer walked over to her and crouched down. Gingerly, he pressed at her side as she winced.
"I think you broke a rib," he said.
She gave a mild glare, as if to say – no kidding.
He gave a bemused smile, but looked on her with concern. "Can you stand up?"
Offering his hand, he helped her stand. As she righted herself, she felt pressure and had a little difficulty breathing. Noticing her small breaths, he weaved his arm around and let her put some weight on him. Although she wasn't sure she needed to, the gesture felt comforting.
White with guilt, Toru said again. "I'm so sorry."
"You have a very powerful kick. I think your father would be pleased." Pausing to take a shallow breath, she added, "I'll be fine." Turning to the rest of the class. "Class is dismissed."
As the two headed out the door and down the hall, T'Pol's nose twitched. Archer was covered with sweat and his skin was slick with perspiration.
As if reading her mind, he said, "Sorry. I must be pretty gross."
She raised her eyebrow and didn't dispute his claim. "I noticed Henry came in. It looked urgent."
Archer gave a brief sigh. "He took apart the comm system in our quarters and isn't sure how to put it back together. I think he wanted to tell me before I came home and found it. Honestly, I think he just wanted a little attention. He doesn't really open up when something bothers him, and I think he wanted to spend a little time with me flying the remote control shuttle."
"Talking about one's feelings is difficult," replied T'Pol. "I believe he has inherited that from you."
He gave a chuckle. "The kid's cursed. Too bad he didn't get Esilia's personality; she was always easy to read and very free. Sometimes her emotions were overwhelming, but … mostly in a good way."
Archer stared ahead as she watched his face. Memories caused the furrow in his brow to disappear and a more serene expression to light up his face.
"I miss her," he mused.
She wondered how humans could love more than one person. For the most part, he'd divulged he was in love with both Esilia during his marriage and herself after his wife had died. The idea that he may have loved her during the years Esilia was alive troubled her. Although, she'd witnessed him act affectionately toward Esilia in public and gaze at her with a gleam in his eyes. It was the same twinkle Trip's eyes gave her.
"She seemed to make you happy," T'Pol said.
"She did. I hope I made her happy," he said as they entered Sickbay.
Phlox saw the two and picked up a scanner waving it on her.
"I take it class went well tonight?" he jested. T'Pol gave him a blank stare, hoping to prevent him from making further quips about her injury.
A grotesquely large grin spread across his entire face. "You've broken a rib. Should be easy enough to repair. But, I would suggest no more class for a couple of weeks."
Archer backed away as she called out to him. "Thank you, Jonathan."
He turned back to her. "My pleasure."
Chapter 11
Several more months flew by and another planet loomed tauntingly in the distance. This one already had a name and plant life, but no people.
T'Pol, Archer, Crewman Adamson (from the botanist team) and Ensign Sanibar (life sciences) poked and prodded around the Minshara-class planet with rolling green hills. The three humans joked about running up the hills, rolling in the grass and climbing a few of the native trees, as the Vulcan gave an admonishing eyebrow. After Archer reassured her they had no intention of following through with their playful ideas, the foursome went back to their duties.
Jon chatted briefly about bringing the entire crew down for R&R if everything went according to plans. His light-hearted remark reminded her that he didn't need to be there, but enjoyed getting off the ship occasionally, bounding around and taking readings with the enthusiasm of a scientist and the eagerness of a poet.
"God, this place is beautiful," he said, looking up from his readings.
T'Pol noted it didn't appear much different from many other planets she'd seen. As she was about to refute his comment, she observed Sanibar – his face was flushed and he was beginning to perspire.
"Ensign, are you feeling well?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she asked again. "Miguel, are you all right?"
When he stumbled, Archer hurried over to him and swung the man's arm over his shoulder. T'Pol followed behind as Archer carried him into the shuttle. Flipping out her scanner, she waved it over the ensign in a few sweeps as Archer laid him down on the floor of the ship.
Within an instant, Archer pulled out his communicator. "Archer to Dr. Phlox."
"Ah, Captain Archer. How are you enjoying the …," Phlox said.
"Ensign Sanibar seems to have taken ill," Archer said, cutting him off.
"Oh?" asked Phlox.
"T'Pol will transmit the information she's collected," Archer said.
She passed her fingers over the device and waited for the information to reach the doctor.
With an amazing amount of alarm, Phlox said, "Tell T'Pol to scan the two of you."
She headed his order and sent the data.
Without his usual mirth and merriment, he replied back to her with urgency.
"Get back to Enterprise immediately! I'll begin working on quarantine procedures with Malcolm. I hope my experience with this airborne virus proves more effective than when I last encountered it."
Quickly, Archer recalled Adamson from his communicator to the shuttle, the three ensured Sanibar was secure, strapped themselves in and took off. Ten minutes into their flight, T'Pol noticed the captain had the same symptoms. Spying beads of sweat trickle down his face and his concentration wane, she piloted the shuttle back … and he and Adamson slipped into unconsciousness.
After making radio contact with Phlox, and ensuring all the quarantine protocols were in place, all four of the away team beamed directly into Sickbay. On reaching the facility, the doctor began demanding medical supplies – including ice and human-sized containers – and scrambling to take care of his patients. The three were placed on biobeds, as their monitors beeped ominously overhead. The physician's eyes and mouth widened.
As he prepared the vats and ordered T'Pol to assist, he said, "This virus wiped out an entire species – the Merins. We came close to coming up with a vaccine, but I'll need to focus on that. I need you to take care of these men. Do you understand?"
Nodding, she said, "Yes."
Filling the last of the containers with the ice given to him, he gave all the information as quickly as possible.
"They've come down with a form of Rigellian fever, the strain seems to be Jan'yk's – something they haven't been inoculated against. Thankfully, Denobulans are immune … and it appears Vulcans are too, but, humans are highly susceptible. Each of them already has a temperature near 40 degrees Celsius. We've got to lower it immediately; anything higher could cause brain damage. I'm sure they're hallucinating already."
To confirm that statement, Adamson moaned.
Phlox continued, "Until I can come up with a cure, we'll need to use a bit of old-fashioned Denobulan medicine – put them in an water and ice bath to bring their fever down. I'll start working on Sanibar, strip the captain."
The last words had echoed in her mind, giving way to mild trepidation. She watched the doctor quickly and unashamedly hoist up the ensign's shirt and begin removing articles of clothing. Craning her neck at Archer, she saw his face was flushed and his eyes seemed unfocused, but open. Vulcans weren't necessarily modest, but had gathered from living with humans they were.
With a deep breath, she began lifting his shirt (the crew had long-since stopped wearing their uniforms).
"T'Pol," he whispered.
By the vacant look in his eyes, she knew he wasn't coherent.
"Captain, please relax. You'll feel better in a moment."
Her fingers brushed the hairs on his stomach and chest as she pulled the garment over his head. When she felt at his waist to remove his trousers, he clumsily grabbed her hand. Her eyes darted to Phlox who seemed busy finishing his job on Sanibar, throwing the man into a tub, and scurrying over to Adamson.
Misunderstanding the captain motives, she stared at him apologetically. "I know you may feel uncomfortable, but we have no other choice," she explained, continuing the task with her free hand.
Archer weakly lifted her palm to his mouth and pressed his lips to it, gazing at her seductively. Perplexed she stared down at him, transfixed by the gesture, even though it made her uncomfortable. It was difficult to take her eyes off of him – showing off a sculpted chest, a scarlet face, which made his green eyes stand out, and sweat drenching his hair; she found him desirable – fascinatingly so. Startled by the realization, she gave a light gasp.
At her sharp intake of breath, he nuzzled her hand with his cheek, scraping the stubble of his face against her skin.
She backed away, quickly, hoping to get the response it solicited under control.
Suddenly an angry voice awakened her. "T'Pol! Hurry!" Dr. Phlox commanded.
When she responded with confusion, he pushed her out of the way and finished the job himself, cursing Vulcan humility. T'Pol silently chided her weakness and wondered what came over her. After stuffing Archer sloppily into his own small metal tub, Phlox quickly walked to the laboratory and began constructing a serum to save these humans.
As he did, he threw out a few commands. "Make sure they stay there and … ensure they're hydrated."
Archer the tallest of the men, was crammed into the tiny space, leaking hairy arms and legs. T'Pol folded them neatly into the container and watched over them, heeding the doctor's orders. To her relief they slept peacefully, shivering lightly in their hazy slumber.
After a few hours, Archer was the first to come to.
"Water," he asked, shivering.
She filled a glass of water and lifted it to his head, tilting it as he gulped it down quickly. As he drank from it, he held her gaze.
When Archer had finished drinking, he asked, "More?"
Phlox, annoyed, instructed, "Give him as much as he wants."
It'd been roughly two years since she'd taken anyone to bed. Before her addiction to trellium, she never thought about sex or the lack of it. Vulcans considered the act necessary for offspring; they didn't necessarily have sexuality, the longing to mate, like humans did. But, being exposed to humans and allowing her emotions to flitter to the surface thanks to the drug, she'd discovered how thrilling it was. She'd certainly felt that way about her late husband; she yearned for him.
A tinge of that desire came while staring at her captain and long-time friend. And, she began to wonder what it would be like to be with another man. No, not any man – him. This one.
Digging through her memory, she'd thought he was handsome before. She recalled feeling some small attraction to him when they were held captive and bound together until the humans, Andorians and Vulcans rescued them. When she accompanied him to assist with the peace agreement between the Andorians and the Vulcans and when she'd invited herself to view the dark matter (that became the Robinson nebulae) with him, she'd thought his face and body was … appealing. She hadn't been in love with him, but … she wasn't exactly certain how she'd felt.
It was only when Jonathan began distancing himself and Trip, or Sim, barged into her life, that'd she'd rethought her feelings. 'Barged' was the right word; Trip was unexpected and completely overwhelming in mostly wonderful ways. She'd never regretted her decision to be with him and was pleased with her life. If he was alive, she wouldn't have given Jonathan a second look and undoubtedly she wouldn't know his feelings.
The sad reality was – Trip was gone and maybe there was some logic in a relationship with Jonathan. She certainly didn't have what she considered romantic love for him, unlike her feelings for Trip. After all, Jonathan had been only a friend for twenty years. Maybe she was feeling something because, just like when Sim admitted his feelings, she felt a spark of joy that someone could love her. Actually what was perplexing is that two men could.
She had plenty of time to ruminate over her thoughts – it took another 24 hours for Phlox to develop a cure and inject it into humans. Archer, being the oldest, took the longest to recover. After another few hours, his temperature dipped below 38.8 degrees and he seemed more coherent and slightly embarrassed about the situation.
When everyone's fever broke, the virus was considered "contained" and the quarantine was lifted.
With pride, Phlox told T'Pol, "Ha! Another major catastrophe averted."
"We were fortunate that you had witnessed this before," she commented.
With a little less enthusiasm, he agreed. "Yes."
T'Pol left the medical facility and brought Archer a fresh change of clothes. As she handed them to him, her cheeks flushed a light green. It was difficult to get the image of him kissing the palm of her hand out of her mind, even though she was desperate to have to removed.
With a nervous smile, he leaned up and took them, letting the sheet drop to his waist as she tried not to stare at him.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"Of course," she said.
As she hustled out of Sickbay, she decided it was the situation that allowed her to become attracted. Under normal circumstances, she would only look on Jonathan as her friend. Entering a relationship would not be easy. In truth, Earthlings were difficult to understand. Though she'd come much closer to doing so, they were still somewhat foreign and unpredictable. Besides, what would Lorian think?
And maybe even a small part of her never wanted to dishonor her relationship with Trip.