A/N: Information about the pon'farr comes from the Vulcan Language Institute, but I had trouble understanding it, so I kind of wrote it based on my own interpretations. So cut me some slack on that part.

I have a diagram of the Enterprise (thanks to the 2005 calendar), but it doesn't have the armory listed on there anywhere. Sickbay is on E-deck, and Kamea's quarters would be on D-deck, so for the sake of the story making sense, we'll say that the armory is on either E or D-deck. If anyone knows any different, please let me know.

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When Kamea returned to her quarters several hours later, she was exhausted. After spending much of the day in the engine room with Trip, Phlox had contacted her, insisting that they start their examinations as soon as possible. She went to sickbay after dinner, wary about the sorts of things Phlox wanted to know.

Most of the questions were medical related. He wanted to know about her history, any illnesses she had ever contracted, the sort of health that her parents had been in. He tested her reflexes, her blood pressure, her heart rate, her vision, her hearing, her lung capacity. She felt like a lab rat and kept waiting for the piece of cheese that would serve as her reward for sitting through his examination so patiently.

"Have you ever experienced any symptoms of pon'farr?" Phlox asked.

Kamea shook her head. "Not yet. I have reason to believe I'll never experience it. Vulcan males are the ones that initiate it, and females develop symptoms only through the telepathic link with their mates. I'm not bonded, so I don't anticipate it being a problem."

Phlox made a note on his PADD and nodded. "So then you've never engaged in intercourse?"

Kamea tensed. She'd hoped to avoid this particular topic of conversation. "Yes. I have."

The doctor's eyes widened. She knew it was uncharacteristic for Vulcans to engage in recreational intercourse, especially with someone other than their bonded mate. But Kamea had been raised among humans, and they had a different view.

"I see," Phlox said. "When did you last – "

"About five weeks ago," Kamea said, her lips curling around her teeth in a snarl. "Can we not talk about this, please? It's not something I wish to remember."

"Just one last question. Any chance you could be pregnant?"

Kamea glanced up at him. "I don't even know if it's possible for me to bear children. Hybrids are generally sterile due to the incompatibility of their genes. If I ever become pregnant, it'll be by the grace of God or Surak or whoever it is watching out for me."

Phlox said nothing in response, but he asked her to demonstrate her abilities for him. He gave her permission to enter his mind, so she read his thoughts, then did a mind-probe. She hated mind-probes; they tended to take a lot out of her, and this one was no exception. She wished he had asked her to do the mind-probe last, because he made her use her telekinesis, and she was so drained from the probe that the bio bed she was supposed to be lifting to the ceiling broke free of her grasp and feel to the floor with a crash that they had probably heard all over the ship.

"I think that's enough for today, hmmm?" Phlox said. Kamea had to bite her cheek so as not to spit out a sarcastic retort, and instead simply nodded and left sickbay.

She stumbled her way through the corridors, barely able to remember the way to her quarters. She actually fell while passing the armory, stopped from hitting the ground by the excellent reflexes of Lieutenant Reed, who happened to be passing.

She looked up at him, barely able to make out his face through her exhaustion. "Mahalo."

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked, his arms still around her.

"I will be fine," she said. Her words slurred as her mind swirled. "The doctor asked me to demonstrate my abilities. I'm afraid I may have overdone it."

He helped her to her feet. "Do you need help back to your quarters?"

She shook her head, but the action made her dizzy. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to collapse again. "I can manage. Thank you."

He didn't seem to believe her, but thankfully he let her go, and she managed to make it back to her quarters with little incident.

She tried to meditate but knew almost immediately that she would never be able to concentrate enough to gain anything from it. It seemed that seven-and-a-half years without sleep was finally beginning to take its toll on her already fragile psyche. She had thought that the hibernation and the dehydration-induced sleep would be enough to pacify her for some time, but it had been almost eight years since she'd had an actual night's sleep. Her brain was starting to respond.

She crawled into bed without bothering to change and curled into the fetal position, determined not to fall asleep. But exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Nightmares plagued her slumber. She saw the Andorians approach. Her father pleaded with them to discuss the situation logically. She saw the first one attack, stabbing her father in the abdomen. She saw the next one get her mother, who died instantly. She sensed something snap within her – anger so fierce that it seemed almost elemental in nature – and she lashed out at the attackers with her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't manage to kill any of them, but they fled all the same. She held her father's head as he passed. She felt her father's hands on her face, heard his voice in her ear.

"Vokau," he had said. "Remember."

Kamea woke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. A glance at the chronometer on her wall revealed that she had only been asleep less than thirty minutes. Her father's last words still lingered in her ear, floating across her mind as they had for the better part of eight years. For yet another night, sleep would elude her.

She took a cold shower to shock herself awake enough to properly function – and to wash off the grease she was covered in – and then she changed into one of her catsuits. She preferred her jeans, as they were more comfortable. She wasn't quite sure what had prompted her to wear such binding fabric. Her thoughts strayed briefly to Lieutenant Reed, but she angrily pushed them aside.

However, she did remember waking briefly, brought to consciousness by the intoxicating scent of pineapple, and seeing his face. A girl could wake up to worse things. She remembered being entranced with his eyes. It was like she had stared into his soul – and he had a good one, there was no denying that. She felt an instant connection – an attraction, like electricity, had coursed through her. That same electricity had shocked her the previous day, in the mess hall, and just hours ago, when he had caught her in his arms.

Her mother used to speak of such a connection. According to her mother, it was the reason she had trusted her feelings about Lorian. Her mother's voice replaced her father's in her mind. Sometimes you just know. I can't really explain it. But it's instant. It's electrifying. And it's binding. You'll never be the same.

Once Kamea was changed, she headed out of her quarters and began to aimlessly wander the ship. It took hours; she went everywhere, carefully avoiding the crew, until they started to drift off for a good night's sleep. Most of them were still uncomfortable around her, and she didn't want anyone to get suspicious of her motives. She told herself she was doing this to familiarize herself with the layout of the ship, but she really knew it was because she wanted to take her mind off the nightmare. It was the same one she had every time she tried to sleep – the one that made her wake in a cold sweat, no matter what. The one that prevented her from having any semblance of a normal life.

She walked through engineering, running her fingers along the engine with the kind of awe that most people reserved for cemeteries or monuments. She peered into sickbay and watched Phlox doing some of his experiments, thankful that there was something that could distract him from her. She ducked into the mess hall for a quick drink of tea, hoping the caffeine would keep her awake. She visited the ship's library and immersed herself in the numerous texts that were available, including some of Captain Archer's old logs. The only place she didn't go was the bridge.

She ended up in the training room, which was empty. She was hardly dressed for a workout, but she needed to vent some frustration in as healthy a manner as possible. Pummeling something seemed as good an idea as any.

She explored the room until she found everything she needed. She set up a punching bag, wrapped her wrists, and programmed the computer to blast very loud, very pulsating music. Then she attacked. She fought with her shadow. She fought with her reflection. She fought with the disembodied voice that followed her every moment of her life. And when she was done, she turned on the punching bag. She tore into it with a fury that surprised even her, clawing and kicking as if that punching bag had ruined her life and not the Andorians or her father. When she no longer had the strength to attack it physically, she lashed out with her mind. She focused all her energy and what little strength she had left on making the bag expand until it finally burst apart, sending pieces all over the room. Drained, she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily.

As she struggled to regain her composure, she realized that she was not alone.

"Computer, stop music," Lieutenant Reed said from somewhere by the door. Kamea cursed as the last chord echoed off the walls. "Nice moves."

"Gotta keep my figure," she said, hoping that her voice didn't sound as frustrated as she imagined it did. She blamed her unawareness of her surroundings on the loud music, her frustration, and her exhaustion. She obviously wasn't thinking clearly, or she would have noticed him enter much sooner. She hung her head; she was allowing her emotions to control her. That was how she had gotten into trouble in the first place.

When she raised her head, she found herself staring in Malcolm's bright blue eyes. He crouched in front of her, looking concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked, for the second time that night.

She considered lying, but knew her appearance would contradict anything she said. And depending on how long he had been watching her, he would be able to tell that something was wrong. She slowed her breathing and said, "I am having trouble falling asleep."

He nodded at the punching bag, or what was left of it. "I can see that." He sat down on the floor. "Anything I can help you with?"

She shook her head and sat down as well. "I had a nightmare."

He cocked his head to the side. "I didn't realize Vulcans had nightmares."

She was too tired to remind him that she was only half-Vulcan, and to tell the truth, she was sick of saying that. People only saw her as Vulcan because of her appearance – the arched eyebrows and pointed ears were dead giveaways – but she was just as much human as Vulcan. Perhaps more so. "What are you still doing awake?" she asked.

He smiled. She could fall in love with that smile. She shook that thoughtout of her head. She would get in trouble thinkinglike that."Subtly changing the subject, are we?" he asked."You don't want to tell me what your nightmare was about?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's really none of your business."

He held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right. I get the picture. As for what I'm doing, I find it easier to train at night. The muscles are looser, reaction time is quicker."

"I've interrupted your training," she said, starting to rise. "I will leave you – "

She stopped as she felt his hand on her arm. She felt the familiar prickling of electricity as it shot through her body, threatening to exploded out of her toes. Her heart began to beat very rapidly, and she fought to keep her breathing steady. This was what her mother had warned her about. Kamea hadn't believed her until now.

"You don't have to go," he said, using her weight to pull himself to his feet. "I could use a sparring partner."

She desperately tried to remove all emotion from her voice. It was going to be difficult enough to speak with her heart in her throat. "I had not pegged you as the type of guy who would hit a girl, Lieutenant."

He grinned. "Well, from what I saw earlier, you'll be a worthy adversary. And I thought I told you to call me Malcolm. Computer, resume music."

They sparred. Malcolm was a good match. They fought their way across the room, their punches and kicks in time to the music that blared from the speakers. They took turns dominating the fight. He used some alien moves on her – mostly Klingon – so she countered by using some moves that she had picked up from the Rigellians. Whenever he managed to flip her over, she used her Vulcan strength to drag him down with her.

For a while, it seemed like Kamea was going to win, but then she misjudged a kick and aimed too far to the left. She told herself it was due to fatigue – after all, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in eight years. Malcolm caught her leg with his arm, then did a sweeping kick that knocked her flat on her back. As he came down for the final blow, she rolled out of the way and leapt to her feet. They started the dance all over again.

Kamea punched, Malcolm ducked. Malcolm kicked, Kamea dodged. She evaded a combination by performing a series of acrobatics she hadn't done in quite some time and didn't believe she was capable of anymore. He managed to parry a well-placed kick at his head, but she had less luck blocking a shot to her abdomen. She stumbled backwards and, angered, attacked with a roll, knocking him to the floor. It took him a while to get up, and Kamea used the time to work a knot out of her shoulder, which would surely be a bruise in the morning.

After several more intense minutes of sparring, Malcolm finally had Kamea pinned to the ground, but she had just enough energy for one final move. She grabbed his arms, put her feet on his stomach, and flipped him over her head. But that zapped her remaining strength, and so she wasn't able to complete the move, which would have her straddling his stomach. She just lay on her back, still clutching his arms.

"Call it a draw?" Malcolm asked, panting.

Kamea was also breathing heavily. "Agreed. Computer, stop music." She pulled herself into a seated position with a wince. She and Malcolm sat back to back, using each other to hold themselves upright. Ordinarily, such close contact with a man would make her uncomfortable, as numerous unfortunate incidents with Wat had ruined her opinion of men, but she was too exhausted to care. And there was no denying the connection she felt between them.

After a few minutes of silence filled only by the sound of their labored breathing, Malcolm asked, "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?"

She didn't have the strength to glare. "Vulcans are very private individuals."

"You've already been very forthcoming with Commander Tucker," he said, a note of hurt in his voice. It sounded as if he were jealous.

"There's a difference between relating anecdotes from my past and opening up," she said.

He sniffed. "I thought perhaps you might need someone to talk to."

She tried to shake her head but didn't have the energy. Instead, her head flopped to the side, resting on Malcolm's shoulder, so that she was staring at the ceiling. "You don't strike me as that kind of person."

"What do you mean?"

"You're emotionally closed off." Kamea hadn't even realized she'd been reading him until the words came out of her mouth; but she also knew that she was regurgitating what others had told her about the lieutenant. Trip had been more than eager to tell her all sorts of stories when she asked about Malcolm earlier that day – like how no one knew enough about him to know what to do for his birthday. "You're afraid of getting close to people because you're afraid of getting hurt."

The edge in his voice could have only meant that she was correct, whether or not he would admit it. "What makes you think that?"

She shrugged, but the effort made her cringe. Too weak to warm down, her muscles were starting to seize up. "We can smell our own," she said. "It's hard to let people in when anyone you've ever cared for has abandoned you – willingly or not."

"Look," he said, and she felt him shift position, "I may not let people in very easily, but I know what it's like to need someone to talk to. I'm here if you need me."

She swallowed. He was being sincere. "I appreciate it, but what I'm dealing with is something I have to face on my own. I've talked about it before, and nothing seems to help. I think perhaps I'm meant to suffer."

He turned to face her, but the sudden lack of support caused her to collapse against the mat. "No one is meant to suffer, Kamea."

She continued to stare at the ceiling. "I wish that were true."