Nothing but Time
Love, Death and Time
One week later
It was the kind of miracle that made Archer question whether there was a deity, or time traveling men bringing cures back from the future or in this case the past. Whatever it was – he didn't care. At the last possible hour to save Phlox, T'Pol, Cutler and Lizel, working round the clock, had found a mix of drugs that would alleviate his heart palpitations and cure his pneumonia; in other words: Phlox would live. His mobility would be reduced and he'd be on a new diet, but when Archer walked into Sickbay, he'd see the over-extended smile on the doctor. That was definitely something to celebrate.
A ship-wide announcement had been made over the loud speaker and cheers could be heard nearly all over the ship. The only negative impact of Phlox's amazing recovery had been the complete exhaustion of T'Pol. Elizabeth Cutler had assisted throughout the night, but had been ordered by T'Pol to rest for a few hours. Lizel who was half-Denobulan, had been tired, but not exhausted; her sleep cycle wasn't for another 37 days.
A beaming Archer entered the medical facility, and then his face fell flat after looking at T'Pol. Gaunt, with sunken eyes, she appeared to have not only waved off sleep, but food as well. His brow furrowed at her and he quickened his footsteps toward the lab where her ghost-like figure was barely holding itself up.
"You all right?" asked Archer.
T'Pol, nodded her head and Lizel responded with a face-swallowing smile.
"Outstanding now, sir," she said, echoing through the room.
He would've smiled if he hadn't been so concerned about his waif-ish friend. Ignoring the need to order her to get some sleep, which she would shake off, he softened his voice and turned to T'Pol.
"Maybe you should get some sleep," Archer suggested.
"I want to ensure the last treatment we provided Dr. Phlox was …."
Lizel hastened to counter, "He'll be fine. I think you should rest. You've been up for three days straight. I know even Vulcans can't even keep up that pace."
Watching the stubborn woman about to decline the suggestion, Lizel spoke with a little more authority. "As your physician, I recommend it."
The Vulcan's shoulder's sagged and she shuffled to the door as the captain walked beside her, ready to put on arm around her to support her, but trying to give her space enough to drag herself to her room. He knew her well enough to know she'd insist on getting to her quarters on her own two feet, and without any assistance from anyone.
"It appears you were correct," T'Pol said quietly. "Phlox lived."
"It was more a hope than a prediction. I didn't want Phlox to die; I just couldn't imagine it happening." After giving her a small wink he said, "Actually you helped that prediction come true. I can't tell you how grateful everyone is."
"No more so than I," she said, thinking fondly of her friend.
Nodding, he continued to walk, noticing her lithe frame forcing itself forward.
Out of the blue, T'Pol asked, "Did you expect Esilia or Trip to die?"
As they stopped in front of her door, his eyes searched hers.
"No," he said.
"You haven't said anything about Trip. By your reaction, it seems Dr. Phlox also told you?"
Archer never really had a poker face; his eyes, cheeks and mouth were more expressive than he ever wanted them to be. Entering her pass code, he wrapped his arm around her and helped to her to a nearby chair, and was pleased that she gave into his assistance.
"No, I haven't. I don't think anything needs to be said."
As she settled against a pillow, she whispered, "I think in the end, his act was noble. Although I wished he'd told me … I admire him for it."
More to herself than to Jonathan, she said, "I wonder about the shuttlepod …."
Seeing the knot form between her slanted brows, it appeared she'd also questioned whether his death was suicide.
"I doubt Trip would do that. Phlox indicated he outlived his death sentence by several years," he said. "He wouldn't give up like that. I don't think he'd ever have given up."
Lowering her eyes to the ground, she gave a slight nod.
She asked, "Did you feel that way about Esilia? I … know she didn't tell you beforehand about her pregnancy."
With a small sigh, he answered, "I don't know. I'm not angry at her anymore. But, I still wish that Elyssa and Henry had their mother back."
"I'm sorry," T'Pol said. Unblinking her eyes glistened just a fraction, what Archer guessed was the consequence of being overtired.
"Don't be."
As he spoke the words, he let his nose fill with the scent of her myrrh incense – it smelled like her hair and reminded him of how he'd enjoyed draping his body around hers and tucking the crown of her head under his chin so he could soak up that aroma even as he slept. It brought back memories of the time they actually had the morning to themselves and how he'd feigned sleep just to hold her for a few moments longer.
Shelving those thoughts, he bent down, unzipped her shoes, pulled off her socks, and smiled down at her skinny, naked feet. He missed seeing them. Actually, he missed seeing a lot more than just her feet – it prompted him to ruminate momentarily about taking one of her toes into his mouth and nibbling on it.
"Would you like to stay with me?" she asked.
His heart leapt into his mouth.
Eventually finding the words, he asked, "What do you want me to do?" His hand caressed the hair at her forehead and temple.
"Be here when I fall asleep."
"Okay."
Although tired, her lips found themselves close to his, desperately wanting to connect with his mouth. Instead of giving in, she continued to gaze into his eyes, and eventually Archer decided her plea was one of comfort, rather than love. Keeping her gaze, he brushed his fingertips against her hair again and thought about how baby fine her tresses were.
With emotion plaguing her voice, she whispered, "You've always been there for me."
"Not always, but I've always wanted to be."
Before he gave into the need to kiss her, he picked her up, carried her to her room and lay her down on her bed. Dismissing the thought of disrobing her, mostly because he'd enjoy it too much, he drew the covers over and around her.
Blinking slowly, she snuggled into the blankets and wondered what was next. And then before she could reflect any further about how she wanted him to nap beside her and feel him nibble on her neck as he did only months ago, her lids slowed their movement and then stopped.
Petting her hair and watching over her, he felt in the core of his soul like this was where he belonged. Then with hesitation, he corrected himself – he knew where he really belonged was under the covers with her, stripped down to what he wore to bed – her cool skin against his.
As the Vulcan drew heavy breaths, he recognized she was asleep. For almost thirty minutes, he looked at her, noticing the tiny crow's feet that sprouted around her closed eyes, the green flush of her cheek and her pouting lips. When he decided she was finally dead to the world, he very quietly – so as not to disturb her – pushed his body off the bed.
Settling his eyes on her sleeping form, with the quietest voice he'd ever used – so hushed it almost wasn't heard – he whispered, "I love you, T'Pol. I always will."
Feeling a lump forming in his throat and emotion eating at his insides, he thought it best to make a swift retreat. He wasn't going to give into sentiment; it didn't become a man near 60 … no, it didn't become him. Silently, he walked out of her room and quarters, and went back to the Bridge.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of hazel eyes had spied everything – everything that was spoken and every action that took place. No one knew Lorian was home. Creeping back to his room, he reflected on the events and words said, including what happened to his father.
Three months later.
Lorian was an observant young man – few things escaped his notice.
Archer had taken him under his wing, as promised, teaching him what he needed to know to be a good captain. The man was congenial, friendly and still gave off the concern he always did. Their relationship for the most part hadn't changed; the man was as just as open (and just as closed) as he was before his mother ended the relationship with him.
And, his mother seemed pleased to live with her son and would give something akin to a glow after each session he had with the captain. Lorian would've called it pride, even if the Vulcan never would've concurred with that particular emotion. His relationship with his mother hadn't really changed either.
It was frequent interaction that enabled Lorian to see that neither Captain Archer nor his mother seemed particularly content. It was more than that ….
Little things emanated from each one – like when Lorian was on the Bridge performing a task, he'd observe the captain's eyes dancing over to his mother as she was lost in her work. It was the same look he'd given his mother before they were ever involved, but it held more yearning. When Archer was preoccupied with showing the young man a few techniques or imparting wisdom about the duties of captain, his mother would watch the captain with earnest – a ghost of a frown on her face and regret in her brown eyes.
He knew the two had stopped seeing each other almost immediately after the argument he and Archer had in the gym. And, he'd gathered the end of the relationship was delivered from his mother who'd come back from Archer's quarters that day heaped in unexpressed emotion – her eyes glassy.
So, even though it was finished between the two, they had carried on as if there were unspoken words, touches and feelings that each one longed to share again. They'd been doing so for months.
Lorian understood he was in the middle; that was his intent from the beginning -- he was a barrier between them getting together. He didn't particularly like it, but recognized that was his role. After all, he didn't want to be an Archer, and moving in might associate him with the captain, rather than his departed father.
What he hadn't expected was sadness to hang on his mother like a shroud; it was impossible to ignore. As he went to sleep every night, her dull eyes had locked on her son to say goodnight and then she threw herself into long meditations that he could tell produced little results. The woman poked at her food and gazed at her padd for extended periods of time (lost in thought). It had been torture – as if her life was slowly being sucked from her body and spilled out into the vacuum of space. Of course, no human would recognize these non-emotional outbursts, but he knew the changes in his mother's demeanor, subtle though they were, enough to know she wasn't happy.
He'd seen happy before. When his father had been alive … and they'd spar and pick at each other, they'd end it with finger touches or kisses. She'd been pleased when Lorian had reported for his first day of tutelage to learn more about the role of captain. And, she'd been content all these years to work diligently reviewing reports of nebulas, quasars, pulsars and other phenomena.
It was the same emotions he'd witnessed when she'd expected to see the captain. Discussing the ship, talking about the crew and their education, reading with Archer … doing things with him had made her happy. It had been evident by the spring in her step, the extra time she took deciding on her wardrobe or and the effort she placed in fixing her makeup.
Her joy had been long gone.
And because he'd seen the captain several hours a week for training, he'd deduced Archer had felt the same way. Lorian had to admit – it was love.
Love.
When Lorian was growing up, he'd found it surprising that Vulcans had words for most emotions -- of course, the words were primitive and archaic – and yet, there was no word for love. It was as if the very nature of the idea had been expunged from their society – eliminated and cast out because it was unfit to be Vulcan. It didn't exist in any text or scroll, had no character or combination of them assigned to it and was never spoken of by anyone. The word itself was foreign, even the concept. Then again, they had no reason to understand it; Vulcan mates were chosen logically (by their parents) and parents ruled over children with flawless reason, never uttering the words to their offspring. Vulcans didn't miss it because they'd possibly never had it – even in the darkest times before Surak.
And yet, Lorian as a child had been perplexed that his mother, a Vulcan, felt it. That emotion had instigated a marriage; the wedding hadn't taken place because of Pon Farr. Although, Pon Farr sparked his existence, the peak of which enabled him to be conceived.
If she understood the emotion, why would she refrain from saying she felt it. She'd rarely spoken words of love, even though she must've known how much it meant to her husband and son.
"Dad, why did Mother marry you?"
"Seemed like the logical thing to do at the time," Trip teased.
"Was it logical?" Lorian asked, seriously.
"Logical to me," he said. Seeing his son's raised eyebrow, he decided to address what he could only guess was the underlying issue. "If you really want to know the truth, I think she fell in love."
"Love is an emotion," the boy replied. "Mother never expresses emotion."
That wasn't necessarily true, but it was close to being true. Trip could pick up on the smallest of gestures and understand where it came from, but a near teen-age Vulcan boy, who sometimes wasn't sure of his own emotions, probably had more trouble.
"You feel love," Trip said. "I know you love me."
He did – as much as he understood the emotion. "But, I'm half-human."
"Your mother loves us."
"Mother hardly ever says she loves us." Lorian had heard the words three times; he kept track.
"Your mom loves you more than you'll ever know. The fact she tells us infrequently makes it all the more precious. Besides, don't you feel in your heart she loves you all the time?"
"Maybe." He'd have to think about that.
"When's the last time you told her you loved her?" Trip asked.
A frown worked over his face. Telling his mother he loved her was embarrassing and painful. It was far easier to tell his father, who welcomed the words with hugs and smiles, as if to encourage it. The one time he told his mother in recent memory his feelings, she awkwardly repeated the words and became silent.
"Maybe you should tell her more often then," Trip said. "Your actions, your words – everything you do is meaningful to her, kiddo. Just like her actions, her words – what she does is meaningful to you."
Lorian got quiet.
"Get to bed," Trip said with a wink and then walked out the door.
Sliding off his tunic and curling into his bed, he thought about his father's words.
The 12-year old boy stared at the ceiling and wondered what it would be like to be human – all human. There had been times when, for example, he'd wanted to laugh, but the feeling of restraining it took control of him – like he didn't want to let the feeling escape. Not having practiced snickering and giggling left his laugh awkward and clumsy, as if he didn't know how to work the muscles in his mouth or diaphragm.
It wasn't really happiness he sought. The emotion he wanted more than any others: love -- the feeling of being loved and the emotion of loving … and to really know that was the sensation that humans felt. The horrible thing about being Vulcan is that the species never really understood a particular sentiment. And, the sensation that accompanied a feeling wasn't what a human would describe it as. Many of them were more intense and twisted. Even now, lust felt less heavenly than the other boys in his classes discussed. It felt more tainted and wanton. Anger felt more like rage, or what he guessed rage was. Hurt felt more like stabs in his gut and chest, not the easy tender feeling that let water trickle from his eyes.
Sometimes love had all the feelings of happiness, lust, rage and hurt, and yet he was unsure if any of those were really love at all. The kind of love he had for his father felt like a constant tickling in his stomach that made him want to chuckle and have it ring through the rooms and halls of Enterprise. It was primarily hurt he felt for his mother, the kind that crushed the chest and lowered his eyes.
Tonight after his weekly captain training session with Archer, he'd invite the man over for dinner. He couldn't deny letting his mother express the one emotion that he craved like no other: love. And maybe by doing so, she'd be able to discern her son loved her as well. At least, that was his hope.
He kept his pace to the Bridge and walked on to greet his teacher, Archer, and his mother.
Dinner was quiet – during it, T'Pol and Archer exchanged glances, hoping to catch the other's eyes, but never succeeding. Of course, Lorian had witnessed each hopeful gaze as if to solidify his resolve. It seemed waiting for the right moment wouldn't help, and possibly bluntness was the right course of action. After all, he'd waited patiently for almost an hour without feeling like the two were moving any closer to resolution.
"Mother, do you still wish to move in with Captain Archer?"
Jonathan's fork, clanked against his plate as hers hung in the air for only a few seconds before she could recover and permit her mouth to overtake it. When she was finished chewing she locked eyes with her son.
"We've already discussed this."
"I'd like to discuss it again."
Sensing he'd walked into something T'Pol didn't expect, Archer said, "Lorian, maybe this isn't the best time to …."
Perhaps the captain who was more willing to give into emotion would respond more favorably, Lorian thought.
"Captain, do you still wish her to live with you?"
"Yes," he said, without looking at the woman sitting across from him.
"And then what are your intentions?" asked Lorian.
Raising his eyebrows, Archer tried to answer the question. "My intentions? I love her, if that's what you're asking." His eyes wandered over to T'Pol whose own gleamed at the admission.
"Lorian, we've already discussed this," T'Pol said, as if to put an end to the conversation.
"Emotions, Mother, are difficult for Vulcans to express because they are difficult to understand. But, I believe you care about this man."
Near-exasperation covered her face. "Jonathan, I apologize, I had no idea Lorian would …."
"I'd be … willing to move in with you, Captain, if you can make my mother … content."
T'Pol's eyes found her son. "Lorian …."
"It's not shameful to admit, Mother. You told me as much several months ago. At the time, I believed your analysis to be incorrect, but I see now that you were right."
An eyebrow raised to him, confused about this course of action.
"You and Captain Archer … your lives have woven together for so many years. You were bound to fall in love, I suppose. I was wrong not to honor that, Mother." Before she could open her mouth, he added, "I know that word, love, may not be Vulcan … but after living with humans, I understand how important it is. And so do you. You and I are destined to seek it out. Being loved feels good."
It was probably the first time mother and child understood each other. T'Pol had sought love ever since she'd lived among the humans. It was clear to her, this was Lorian's way of telling her he cared. He was showing it just as she had by ending the relationship with Jonathan. The gesture from her son was meaningful.
"You don't need to do this," T'Pol explained.
"No, I don't. But, the Archers aren't that bad." Something playful in his eyes shone to her and for a moment, she believed her late husband has said those words.
Jonathan let the joke go, leaning over on his elbows. "Are you sure you want to do this, Lorian?"
T'Pol's eyebrow twitched.
"I am …. My only request is – may I have my own room?"
Archer smiled, "I think that can be arranged."
It had been about a month before the requisition to expand the Archers quarters had been filled. In the process, he'd displaced one crewmember, who'd happily taken T'Pol's more spacious quarters, and turned the lives of two families upside down. Moving had been more of an ordeal than he thought it would be, including squealing children, yipping old dogs and a flat feminine voice cutting through the usual commotion. The only issue the couple had was where to put the starfish like pattern from her previous quarters. Finally Archer had given in and with a dramatic flourish, agreed to move his water polo trophies.
The cabin itself had been built out for three rooms, two bathrooms and a small kitchen. Lorian and Henry had been pleased to get their own rooms – both cluttering them with personal items, and Elyssa was relegated to the fold out couch in the middle of the living room. Truthfully, she'd wanted to be where the action was anyway.
The first night the family spent in the new quarters seemed like fun to everyone. Elyssa enjoyed listening to Lorian and Henry talk through their walls to each other.
"Lorian, I'm glad you're staying with us," she heard Henry say.
"I am as well."
"Maybe tomorrow, you and I can take Dad's old remote control flyer for a spin. I've modified it to go faster."
"I'd like that."
"Maybe we can invite Toru," said Henry.
"You mean distract Elyssa with Yoshi?"
Henry laughed, "Yeah."
"Good idea," Lorian replied.
With a little pout, she decided to strain her ears and listen to the whispers that came from her father's bedroom.
"Do you think Lorian's settled?" Jon asked.
"I believe so. He spoke with enthusiasm about moving in. I think it's a good sign. And your children?"
"You kidding? I think Henry's happy to see a friend move in, and I think Elyssa is thrilled."
"What about you? Are you … 'settled'?" she asked, coyly.
"Definitely so. Feels pretty darned comfortable to me."
They were silent for a few minutes, and Elyssa imagined the two to be kissing.
"You know, T'Pol … I've had something for you for a while."
Elyssa heard the deck plating slapped by bare feet, a drawer open and then the creak of her father's bed.
"Open it," Archer said.
"Marriage?" she finally asked.
"Shouldn't be a surprise; I mean we've talked about it."
"Jonathan –"
"I'd like you to be my wife, T'Pol," he whispered. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
The little girl could hear muffled sounds, definitely kissing, and then their voices became quieter, forcing her to leave the comfort of her bed and tiptoe to the door. Crouching over carefully, she stuck her ear against the cold metal hoping not to alert anyone. As the tip of her ear planted itself against the door, it was interrupted from its mission.
"Goodnight, Elyssa," T'Pol said, then quietly explained to the man in bed next to her she could hear the child on the other side of the door.
'Vulcan hearing!' thought the Elyssa, kicking at the deck plating on her way back to bed. When she'd agreed to take the couch, she hadn't anticipated T'Pol's excellent auditory skills.
She wasn't completely let down, as she snuggled into the covers again, she heard T'Pol's voice filled with amusement.
"Why didn't you requisition a larger bed?" she asked.
He gave a purring laugh. "I would've thought that'd be easy to figure out."
Near silence rang out through the cabin, and blinking through the darkness, Elyssa wondered if her father and T'Pol had gone to sleep. She was satisfied to hear after an hour or so, the soft snore from her father she'd grown accustomed to.
Settling back, she enjoyed the thought that this was family. With that, she closed her eyes and smiled ruminating on the idea that T'Pol might tuck her into bed every night and her father would laugh more often.
A silent hope crossed her eager brain: maybe in the morning, her dad would let her jump on his bed and demand pancakes. And maybe he'd grab her and tickle her while reminding her she wasn't allowed to jump on the bed. It was their Saturday morning ritual, one she looked forward to. Perhaps this time, T'Pol would explain how jumping was bad for mattresses and that if she needed to exercise her energy, she should play with Yoshi. After the explanation, a hint of amusement would sparkle in her eyes and she would quietly admit she also liked pancakes, triggering her father to leave the bed after kissing T'Pol tenderly on the lips and Elyssa sweetly on the forehead. That wasn't part of the ritual, but Elyssa wished it would be.
She wasn't disappointed.
Epilogue
It astounded T'Pol that the man had lived so long – one hundred and ten was slightly beyond the norm, especially for a man who'd lived so hard. He'd stopped commanding Enterprise at roughly 80, which she'd argued was too old to captain a starship.
Their life together had been easy – only filled with occasional minor arguments between a wife and husband … or a captain and his first officer. Most of the moments between them had been joyous and loving.
Most of the crew had already perished. Malcolm had lived to be eighty-two. Hayes had lived until eighty. Even Phlox had died – his heart had eventually given in. The only two people who remained were Hoshi and Travis, and both were barely hanging on.
Lizel walked out of Archer's bedroom and shook her head slowly. "I think this is it."
A stinging sensation burned throughout the Vulcan's body. Fifty years with the man seemed like an instant and she begged, something she knew was beyond logic, for just a few more days with him.
"I suggest you call the children," Lizel said softly.
It was crushing – her limbs felt weak and her lips trembled. T'Pol made the calls, her voice quivering with uncertainty and wrought with emotion. With trepidation, she went to her husband's side.
"Hey," he said at the worried look on the Vulcan's face.
The Vulcan tried to hold back tears. It wasn't the trellium that was eventually eroding her remaining control; she was losing her best friend and bondmate.
Gently she stroked his white mane and the first child arrived with her two children. Elyssa, now tall with dark hair – looking so much like Archer – wandered up to her father's bed. The Ikarran was slightly beyond middle age, they didn't live as long as humans, and carried sadness in her eyes, face and demeanor.
"Lys," he whispered.
"Dad," she said, stooping to the side of his bed.
Her children stood behind her – all dark-skinned with ridges – consoling each other. Lys had married one of Mayweather kids and had given birth to a boy and a girl – Teresa and Robert.
Archer smiled. One of the roles he liked best was grandpa and looking on Elyssa's family made him proud of his daughter – maybe even more proud than her ace flying. Staring at her features, he saw her as a young girl around seven, who spoke with enthusiasm and glee.
He said, "Your mother named you Elyssa because according to Ikarran traditions, any child born without gray eyes speaks the word of God. When you were born, your eyes were blue instead of gray."
"I know. You've told me that before," she said, lightly kissing his forehead. Tears spilled out of her eyes and she looked over to T'Pol for strength. Having touched the woman hundreds of times before, she reached her hand around the Vulcan's and wasn't surprised when the grip was tightened.
Henry arrived next. His hair was light brown, and his eyes still shone gray. Slightly stooped, he leaned on his oldest and only child, Ken, to support him. Henry had married Yoshiko Hayes, joining the Hayes and the Archer lines together to produce another fine engineer, breaking Archer's theory about mechanical skills skipping generations. Henry, like his grandfather, was a top-notch engineer – one of the best.
"Dad," Henry said. The Ikarran leaned down and hugged his father, careful not to squeeze to hard. When the man came up, Archer saw his son cry.
"I don't know why everyone is sad. I've been around a good long while, a man can use a break now and again," Archer kidded.
"Dad," Elyssa said like an accusation, a laugh and a sob. Her fingers wiped at her eyes and under her nose as Henry drew his sister into a hug.
And then Lorian came. Strong, sturdy – he was stocky in build and confident. He'd grown into a fine young man … a brilliant first officer, a well-reasoned science officer and someone who knew a thing or two about Enterprise's engines. The crew admired him and his courage, having proved himself more than a few times and winning more than a few pats on the back from Archer, one of his mentors. Congratulations occasionally came from his other mentor, his mother. Those were always the most rewarding.
Secretly, or not so secretly, Archer wished the boy (he'd always be one to Archer) would marry and settle down, but Lorian quietly and with humor always advised that the captain is married to his ship. It was something he was adamant about, despite the pretty faces of many of the young women on Enterprise.
On seeing Lorian, Archer grew a little more serious, waving the man over. Lorian crouched down.
Archer said, "Don't let your mother be captain too long. You're ready for the job."
"Yes, sir," Lorian said.
"Please do three things for me. It's urgent …."
"I know the first one – destroy the Xindi weapon before it reaches Earth." It was all Archer talked about these days – as if it was his mission to live long enough to make that happen.
"Yes," Archer whispered. "You've got to promise to do that. If not, everything would've been in vain."
"I promise," Lorian whispered.
"Promise!" Archer said more strongly.
"Yes, I promise. I won't allow the weapon to harm Earth. What are your other requests?"
"Take care of Enterprise – the ship, the families on board, they'll all be looking to you. It's their home. It's your home."
"Always."
"Good."
"What's the third thing?" Lorian asked.
"Don't argue with your mother so much," he said with a smile.
Lorian gave a mild laugh and agreed. "I'll try."
As if sensing he was slipping away, T'Pol shook her head and sat on the edge of his bed. "Please, Jonathan. No."
Unable to muster the strength to take her hand or place his fingers along hers, he whispered what he hoped would be parting words; he hated goodbyes.
"I love you," he said. "I always have and I always will."
She whispered, "I love you, too."
Slowly, his breathing slowed, his heart began to wind down and his mind clouded. Death had finally caught up with him, and he was ready this time to let it win.
Sensing his thoughts, she whispered, "Don't go. I'm not ready for you to go." Tears streamed down her face; this wasn't the time to control her emotions.
"We've been together a long time, Aisha."
Her lips touched his cheek. "Not long enough," she pleaded.
"I'll see you again, T'Pol," he whispered and closed his eyes.
After Archer died, T'Pol spent the majority of her free time in her room reading and thinking. His last words to her were prophetic; Lorian was unable to intercept the weapon, so she'd be seeing Enterprise again. She'd be seeing Jonathan again. In fact, Karyn would be walking him to her cabin in a matter of minutes.
Years had given her time to understand the issue: would she encourage a younger version of herself to fall in love with Jonathan, letting her know how he'd felt all these years? Or, would she push her younger self toward Trip – who was also in love with her and soothed a passion in her. Maybe it was best not to tell a younger version of herself anything, but allow events to naturally occur … whatever those events may be.
Even though she'd had years to understand the complexities of the problem, she'd never really developed any solutions. When her mind would settle on a solution, another one sprang to mind. Possibly being married so long to Jonathan made her realize why humans did things impulsively – sometimes it was the rush to get the decision over with and hope that a better opportunity would eventually present itself.
From the discussions she had with Lorian, she knew the repercussions for him were possibly more taxing – if his parents indeed were romantically involved, would he be, in a way, born again? She'd heard him wonder aloud whether if the circumstances would never be duplicated so exactly to create him. They'd even discussed if she bore a child, Trip's child, and even if it was a boy named Lorian, that it wouldn't be the same. The odds of producing Lorian were astronomical: his genetics, his personality -- him. It was difficult for her to accept; she loved her son.
Talking with Lorian, she knew he wanted to see his parents reunited – almost with the naivety of a child … even if he wasn't recreated.
As she heard the steps outside her cabin, she gathered her logic around her … or as best she could for a woman her age.
Already nervous, T'Pol faced the window, watching the stars pass – the same ones they'd passed for more than 100 years. When his footsteps crossed the threshold, her nostrils twitched at the air – it smelled like him: woodsy, musky … more powerful than the faint trace that remained on his clothes that she kept.
She could feel his trepidation and curiosity as he entered, which is what bade her speak.
"Hello, Jonathan."
"T'Pol."
She could hear the surprise in his voice – the recognition. By his voice, she knew she'd made the right choice. Instead of being bothered by seeing an older version of his friend, a woman he'd been in love with, T'Pol took note he was thrilled and touched that he would be the first person she'd want to see.
Turning, she was stunned by how handsome he was. It seemed like forever ago when his hair was dark, rather than littered or completely covered in gray or white, and his skin sported fewer wrinkles. His green eyes were confident and demanding – as if he hadn't let the Expanse defeat him yet … certainly not the way he looked after being caught in the past.
Waiting, he watched for a cue – something that meant it was okay for him to move closer. And she observed his astonishment when she waved him over to her and reached her hands lightly around his arms in as close to a hug as she risked with her former husband.
"It's good to see you," she said.
Even as he relaxed and returned the gesture, smiling at her, she could tell things weren't the same.
"Living with humans for so long has changed you," he said in the voice he'd always reserved only for her.
Wanting to sigh, she found it ironic it wasn't living necessarily with humans, but living with particularly him and Trip that changed her. As she tried to withdraw, he held her steadfast.
"They didn't tell me you were still aboard."
"Ah. You mean still alive," she said, as if to joke. Amusement flickered in his eyes as well as admiration. His hand continued to wrap around her arm, and despite her age and his youth, he looked on in awe.
Retrieving her arm, she turned away from him. "You look well."
Hoping to stop his stare and make conversation, she asked, "How's Trip?"
"He's fine," he replied, snapping out of it. "If you like, I'll have him come by and say hello."
"That might be awkward," she responded. Trip would never be as accepting – his emotionality would cause confusion for him and for her. The T'Pol that loved Trip – the one who had desire for him – was someone else. This T'Pol could only really remember Jonathan, and because of age didn't desire really anyone.
Besides, it was imperative she speak with Jonathan about the ship and the vortex; she needed to tell him that Lorian's commitment to the crew and command was too strong. He wasn't able to look at the situation as objectively or logically as she … especially after seeing both his father and Archer, which she gathered cause wounds to reform – emotional scars she already thought had healed.
"There's so much I want to ask you," he said, earnestly. "I don't know where to start."
With defeat, she said, "I wish we had time to get reacquainted. You must give this to your science officer. She'll know what it means."
Confusion and disappointment contorted his features as he looked at the data. She gazed at him while the events of her life charged into memory – her quiet and very private marriage to Archer performed by Phlox where only their children attended, the feel of his lips on hers, the minor arguments they had as man and wife and captain and first officer, and watching his eyes close for eternity as she hovered over his lifeless body – causing her to for the second time in her life to weep uncontrollably.
Risking a few more words she said ….
"I know you're in love with her. It's written all over your face." It was ironic that she was mentioning what Esilia said to Jonathan decades ago, but it seemed appropriate.
He wasn't exactly sure who her was and thought 'Enterprise?'
Their eyes locked and he realized she knew about his feelings for T'Pol, the T'Pol from his time. The words sunk in, but they didn't make any sense. Lorian wasn't his child – he was Trip's … not that that made any sense either. Swallowing deeply, his eyes fell on the floor and his mind turned over the information.
"She loves you, too."
He glanced up. "I don't understand," he said.
"But, her time with you hasn't come, yet. Be patient, Jonathan. I know it's not in your nature, but try anyway."
It made sense to encourage a younger T'Pol to be with Trip; the engineer didn't have long to live and though the chance was remote – she might have Lorian. In the end that was the only logical decision she could come to, as much as it pained her. What's more, T'Pol had decided, quite illogically, that certain things were meant to be – the universe continued to throw her and Jonathan together; it was obvious the soul mates would be reunited.
His trademark furrow, the one she hadn't seen in years sprung onto his face, and for a moment she wanted to laugh. Yes, she knew him – she could even guess what he was thinking … after all their minds had been linked together for nearly fifty years. The inner-dialogue that chatted along his neural pathways was almost second nature to her.
"I didn't say it would be easy. I said, 'try,'" she clarified.
More marked confusion spread over his face and she guessed his mind was racing.
"But, you and Trip?" he asked. Actually, it wasn't really a question just a way for his brain to process the events.
"Yes."
"And me?"
"Eventually," she said.
She saw the wheels spinning in his head, attempting to work out the details of their lives, probably making up a story of what happened for the more than 100 years she was on Enterprise. What the story was, she couldn't tell, but she knew he realized at one point in her life she'd loved him, and that seemed to make a difference. Before she could do anything foolish, like hold out two fingers as she would more than 50 years ago, she turned away. She wasn't surprised to hear his paused footsteps behind her, wanting to say more or do more; and she wasn't startled when he spoke quietly to her back.
"I can't get involved in a relationship with T'Pol," he said, even though he had to admit to himself that loved his first officer. "The circumstances, this time, are different."
The man would never change – stubborn.
"The circumstances may change, but the feelings won't … and you won't always command a ship."
Without wanting to think more about it, he thanked her for the information, spoke warmly about seeing her and left, dedicated to the task at hand. As he walked away, it was important he forget what he heard; it was dangerous enough that he felt jealous of Trip. Captains weren't meant to fall in love with those they command; it seemed like a rule somewhere.
As he left, she almost felt sorry for the T'Pol of the present time. She needed to hear how she was loved and adored by a human; Trip was more likely to say it and thus it made sense she would need to go to him for love. She knew Jonathan would feel the same, but wouldn't be willing to say it, hiding behind the mantle of captain and commander.
Sighing, she knew the man. He would do his best to deny it, disregarding the words she'd carefully crafted and painstakingly said, but the idea would germinate one day. She was certain. It was only a matter of time.
The End.
A/N: Thank you for reading! This last part was especially soap-operatic and possibly tissue needing (either because it was so bad or watching people die got ya). I apologize for any trespass you believe I committed to a character or the tale. Thanks for letting me play around with them a bit.
Special thanks to Mana and Monica who reviewed much of the story. And thanks to those who encouraged me to finish -- more people than I really anticipated. :)