Two Things Are Certain

Part Two

Chapter Four

Things continued in a state of upheaval for the next week while they approached Vulcan. Neither Jon nor T'Pol had any contact with each other; their conversations on the Bridge were kept to a bare minimum.

Overall, she was silently reflective, but not unaware of his mood -- he seemed tense and she gathered was most likely brooding about the situation, but the minute she began to sympathize or empathize, she chanted a few words about logic, reason and control. The man could not be allowed to dominate her will. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't work things out with Jonathan. Undoubtedly it would lead to caresses and the sharing of thoughts, making her mind feel unkempt and unclean.

From his perspective all her interactions with him were cold, sharp and impersonal.

That pissed him off. He woke up, went to work and went to bed angry. Although he would've preferred to have a good old-fashioned argument, where everyone got a few things off their chest, the best thing was just to let her be …. though it was against his nature to let things fester like this. He decided to just acknowledge her as his first officer, and the rest would come back later, when she was ready … at least that's what he hoped.

In a way, he could understand the whole Trip business – how she fell in love (or whatever Vulcans do) with him and had trouble deciding between them. He knew she had deep feelings for the man, and in many ways still did. Heck, he had deep feelings for the man; the guy was almost a brother. But this? He couldn't comprehend it – not one iota. What would happen after she got back from Vulcan? Would she be so damned untouchable and unreachable? With a sigh he reminisced about the old T'Pol: the one who raised her eyebrow to tease or scold him, nibbled on his throat and attempted to get him to meditate with her from time-to-time. As far as he was concerned, that was T'Pol. He wasn't sure who this T'Pol was, but he was pretty sure he didn't like her. This one reminded him of Soval and how the NX program was held back for so long. This one would've prevented his father's engine from succeeding.

Furrowing his eyebrows together, he marched out of his room, down the hall, into the turbolift and onto the Bridge. At least this would all come to an end; they'd reach Vulcan in only a few hours. With a grunt he plopped down into the captain's chair, not bothering to look at his science officer. Hoshi smiled at his entrance, saw he was still grumpy, and slouched in her chair. She knew when to look busy.

Archer glanced at T'Pol and inquired, "Status?"

Unemotionally, the Vulcan answered, "All systems are normal, sir."

"Thanks," he said, flatly. He could feel himself glowering at the sub-commander.

Squinting his eyes, he stared at his PADD and drank his coffee. After a few moments, he excused himself to the Ready Room, leaving T'Pol in charge.

As Hoshi relished the peace on the Bridge, a communication crossed her console.

Thumbing her finger over a button, she said, "Transmission from Admiral Forrest, Captain."

"Put him through."

Thirty minutes later, Archer meandered out of his office with renewed vigor, thoroughly pleased with himself. With a smug grin, he slid into his chair and smiled at the view screen. Hoshi noticed the change in his demeanor right away, and for some reason felt nervous about his new attitude. The change also didn't escape T'Pol who'd decided that perhaps the caffeine he'd guzzled had finally improved his mood.

"We are nearing the planet. We should arrive in approximately two hours and forty five minutes," reported T'Pol. She didn't need to specify which one.

"It turns out I have to take care of a few things. Sub-commander, I assume you probably need to get packing?" he asked.

"I have already prepared, Captain," she responded.

He smirked. "What time do you leave?"

"Approximately 1500 hours, with your permission," she replied.

"Okay," he nodded. "Then the Bridge is yours."

Archer strutted over to the turbolift and grinned as the door slid shut.

Chapter Five

T'Pol piled her duffle bags into the shuttle at approximately 1459. As she was loading them, Archer appeared with a few items of his own, wearing a dress uniform as she had seen him wear on Earth when meeting Admiral Forrest.

Without peaking an eyebrow, she stared at him with confusion.

"You cannot go with me," she said.

He continued packing a few things, "That's funny. Maybe you don't want me there, but the Vulcans do. I've been asked to represent Earth at V'Lar's banquet tonight."

She asked, "They are holding a banquet in her honor?"

"You weren't invited, huh?" He nonchalantly added, "Well, I'd ask you to come with me, but you'd probably prefer to meditate and seclude yourself away from my emotions."

The man could be infuriatingly stubborn … if she could become infuriated that is. He radiated self-confidence, obviously fueled by the knowledge he'd one-upped her. As she finished stuffing her gear into the shuttle, she met him with a cool gaze and stepped inside the vehicle. He followed behind and sat at the helm.

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "I do know how to fly this shuttle."

He knew he was getting under her skin and was enjoying that she was unsettled – well, in a way. Being separated from her for a week (on top of not seeing her much before), and having it be her choice rather than his, brought out some of his old prejudices – the ones he thought he'd gotten over. In the recesses of his mind, he'd convinced himself that she enjoyed feeling superior … and was doing it to spite him.

When Forrest told him about the function, he'd looked forward to sharing the news with her – knowing she hadn't been invited. But, once it was delivered and he saw a flicker of disappointment spark in her eyes, her felt badly about it. He had two options – continue to be an arrogant bastard and fly them to Vulcan, or let her win this one.

With a smirk, he vacated the helm and scooted to the science station.

He said, "Yes, you do know how to fly the shuttle."

"Thank you," she remarked, taking her place at the front.

As the shuttle departed, Jon leaned his seat back and reached into a small sack to pull out a PADD that contained roughly 1,700 pages of materials on Vulcan customs he hadn't read. Not exactly light reading, he felt it necessary to at least try and represent Earth as best as he possibly could.

After a few moments of silence, T'Pol spoke up. "Where are you staying once you reach Vulcan?"

"I was hoping to stay in Shi'Kar. While I'm there, I thought I could see the temples you've mentioned. I know the banquet is near there anyway."

"I am not going to be able to take you to the temples," she said.

Trying to keep his temper in check, he said, "I know. I was going to take a tour by myself. I didn't ask you to come along."

She was silent for a few minutes as he went gladly back to reading the PADD. The woman thought about it – Jonathan didn't know much Vulcan.

In a small voice, she asked, "You remembered my description of the temples?"

"Yes," he said, his eyes focused down on the PADD. "Down to the cinnamon smelling red flowers in the courtyard by the fountains."

"I am staying in Shi'Kar as well," she noted. "Perhaps it would be mutually beneficial if we stayed in the same location."

Looking up at her, he realized she was making her first concession. Nodding slightly, he agreed, "Perhaps."

Giving a smile, he was about to say something when she averted his eyes again and focused on the controls. Maybe it wasn't her first concession, but her only one. With a sigh, he thumbed his PADD to scroll to the next screen.

Although it was impossible to feel "bugged" about something, the Vulcan's brain had been chewing on information since Archer arrived in the shuttle – the banquet.

"Who invited you to the banquet?" she asked.

"I guess Soval mentioned something to Forrest," he mumbled, beginning to get lost in the information on his PADD.

"The ceremony is usually reserved for dignitaries and close friends," she said, glancing back for a moment. "No doubt this is quite an honor."

"Huh?"

"Perhaps … I could escort you and show you some of the customs and expected traditions," she said.

Archer frowned, and lied, "I think I'm pretty well acquainted with what I need to do."

T'Pol had seen the way he prepared for events and gathered he didn't know the nuances that Vulcans would find critical to his success. Besides, she wanted to attend … and if she were honest with herself, she wanted to be with him. Maybe being with him in a public ceremony where his emotions would be diffused would be acceptable.

"I would like to accompany you."

Heaving a sigh, he scratched the back of his neck. Women, it didn't matter which species, were confusing. Looking into her eyes, he couldn't really say no to her and truth be told, he wanted her to come.

"I'd like that."

"Thank you." She paused for a few beats. "How long are you staying?"

"Dunno. I was kinda playing it by ear," he said, quietly -- dropping a hint that maybe he wouldn't mind tagging along with her. His pride wouldn't allow him to say it outright, especially after he'd claimed she wasn't welcome to accompany him.

"I may have time after the ceremony -- tomorrow afternoon, and then again toward the end of my stay."

"How many days?" he asked.

"Approximately, three."

"You won't be alone the entire time, as you had asked," he said.

"No. I will not be. But, you have shown me enormous hospitality on Earth. I believe I can do the same."

He didn't want to push her on that one; she obviously wasn't just returning a favor. Since she was good enough to let him save face, he could do the same.

"Good," he said. "Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?"

"We were never arguing," she noted.

"No. It seems we were disagreeing very, very quietly. We haven't really talked to each other in a week."

"Jonathan, we have been … dating … for roughly five months. It didn't seem a few weeks were too much to ask."

"I don't get to see you very much on the ship, at least not in the way I'd want to. I was hurt you didn't want to be with me. I was feeling … and am feeling … I don't know … I guess … human."

"I was feeling … and am feeling … Vulcan."

He nodded, accepting that some differences between them would probably cause issues.

"I honestly didn't think this would be a problem. You?" he asked.

"I believed our cultural differences would eventually become problematic. After all, it is only logical."

Jon grinned. "Well, just so you know, I didn't ask Forrest to send me here. Ambassador Soval requested it." He failed to mention he could always decline.

"I know."

"I would like you to have some time to yourself," he mentioned. "I'll keep myself busy until you're ready."

"I would appreciate that."

"And, I'll try not to bombard you with emotions or initiate physical contact," he conceded.

"That would also be helpful."

It was going to be a tough week. Even watching her now, he had to fight the urge to take her into his arms for a hug or press his fingers to hers. Instead, he dismissed the need for physical comfort.

"I love you," he whispered.

She turned her head toward him, wanting to kiss him. "I cherish you as well."

As if the argument were settled, she went back to piloting the shuttlepod. Although Archer felt better, something still bothered him – he just couldn't put his finger on what. With a sigh, he focused his attention back on his PADD.

Chapter Six

As they made their approach to Vulcan, Jon retrieved a hypospray and touched it to his neck. As it hissed, he felt his lungs begin to expand almost unnaturally and his head swim. Vulcan had almost twice the gravity, was at least 30 degrees hotter and the oxygen in the air was even lower than Earth's. Humans considered Vulcan hell – tales of the atmosphere and heat were legendary.

Validating these thoughts – T'Pol tilted the door open and Archer felt a rush of hot air that made him want to pass out. He was glad Dr. Phlox told him to bring twice the amount of clothing he would normally bring, as almost immediately, he started perspiring. With difficulty, he stood up and acknowledged he was in for a strenuous couple of days. His heart was pounding in his chest as if he'd started a light jog on a treadmill. He galumphed over to the door and struggled out. As he did so, he immediately searched for his shades; two suns and light colored sand made it almost impossible to see. Placing them over his eyes, he frowned – it was still blinding, especially to a man who'd been living on a ship where lighting was always kept to 80%. Archer grabbed at the second button of his uniform and fumbled to splay it open, hoping to coax just a little breeze onto his skin.

'Hell," thought Archer.

'Home,' thought T'Pol.

It'd been years since her return. She looked over the expansive brown, barren landscape with nostalgia. The temperature warmed her skin and her eyelids filmed over – her nictitating membranes springing to life, remembering how to shield her Vulcan eyes from the invasive sunshine. It felt dry and comforting, not humid like Enterprise's environmental controls. The smell of sand and heat reached her nose and she sucked in the scent; it was clean, not salty like Earth or the starship. And, then she listened – it was her favorite part of Vulcan: silence. No small talk, chatter, beeping or noisy minds throwing their emotions onto her … it was utterly and completely devoid of sound … except for Jonathan. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth suck in enormous amounts of air.

"Welcome to Vulcan," said T'Pol. She zipped to the back and threw her bags over her shoulder easily.

Surveying the land, Jon noticed sand as far as the eye could see. He could see the outline of the city in the distance … looming. The sky was swirling red, just as T'Pol had described, with two orange globes shining oppressively overhead. If he had to liken it to any place he'd been, he'd guess West Texas. He couldn't understand why T'Pol thought it was so beautiful. It was flat, hot and the sky looked like clay. It wasn't nearly as beautiful as he'd imagined.

The airstrip they had landed on was small, but seemed extremely high-tech. In fact, it made the bases on Earth appear backward. A few red-colored, sleek metal shuttles littered the mostly lifeless grounds – lifeless, except for the two brown-cloaked Vulcans that strolled up to greet them. They were both almost as tall as Archer, with bronze skin, dark hair and dark eyes. In fact, Archer had a hard time telling them apart; Vulcans, for some reason, liked to wear their hair in a bowl style, and wore what seemed like near-frowns.

"T'Pol," said one of the Vulcans, forming his hand into the shape of a "V."

"Greetings," she acknowledged.

Archer thought Soval was stiff, but realized compared to these guys, he had a sunny personality and a lot of charm. His face grew serious as he said, "Hello."

One turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Archer."

The captain gave a lopsided smile. The greeting didn't seem welcoming; it sounded more like recognition. Unsure what to do with his hands, he tapped them nervously on his bags. Despite Archer's curious eyes, no one introduced himself, choosing to swivel around instead, letting their long dark cloaks flow about their feet.

"We are both staying in Shi'Kar," T'Pol claimed to the one who had shorter hair.

"Of course," he said. He didn't beckon them forward, but walked with long strides to a shuttle on the other end of the strip. T'Pol and the one with slightly longer hair followed at his heels, but Archer had a tough time keeping up. His breath already felt labored.

The three waited at the shuttle as Archer lumbered toward it, trying not to pant, but already sweating profusely.

"Sorry," he said.

The Vulcan with shorter hair turned his nose up ever so slightly and stepped into the shuttle. If Jon could smell himself, and he could, he knew he must reek to them. Shrugging it off, Archer placed his bags into the back with a huff, noticing only T'Pol had offered to help him, and then climbed in. He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm.

"It's hotter than hell," Jon mentioned to himself, sitting in a steel chair. No air conditioning blew and the seats were cramped. Vulcans were thin, and even though he was light, his frame was larger than the chair.

Rather than respond to the human's comment, the three Vulcans remained quiet. Each purposefully seated himself, with T'Pol in the back next to Archer. With a flip of a few switches, the shuttle lifted easily off the ground -- not at all like the typical Earth-ship lunges and lurches. And with one additional button flick, the aircraft glided effortlessly toward the city.

'Funny, even the engines in these things are quiet,' Archer thought.

Craning his neck to look out a window, he saw precious few shuttles in the air. Strange, he expected for an airstrip near the capital, it would be teeming with people and bustling with over-stimulated life. Focusing his attention to the inside, he forgot to take his PADD out of his bag – and instead had to listen patiently to the endless Vulcan silence.

Finally ten minutes into their flight, the Vulcan with the longer hair said, "T'Pol, I grieve with thee over the loss of V'Lar."

T'Pol bowed ceremoniously.

Uncomfortable in the steel chair, Archer fidgeted, attempting to get comfortable. The Vulcan with the shorter hair, piloting the shuttle, glanced over his shoulder with what Jon gathered was annoyance.

Another fifteen minutes had passed without a word, and the captain finally decided to speak up, "So, how close are we?"

"The journey is approximately 45 of your Earth minutes," he mentioned casually.

Archer sighed; that didn't really answer his question. Peeking out the window, he saw a wasteland of sand – nothing really exciting to look at. Out of habit, he drummed his fingers on the side of the window for only a moment when he caught T'Pol's furrowed eyebrows and slightly shaking head, encouraging him to stop. He breathed deeply and put his hands in his lap. Thinking the best thing to do was take a nap, he closed his eyes.

Five minutes until they arrived, a burst of conversation started, nearly startling Archer.

"T'Pol, I hope your family is well and is eased in their grief at the loss of an admirable, if not unorthodox, woman," said the shorthaired Vulcan.

T'Pol was stoic, but Archer had the vague impression she was annoyed.

The other one added, "All of Vulcan admired V'Lar of course. And, you have somewhat followed in her footsteps, have you not?"

"I hypothesize that I have," T'Pol said.

"Your work with the humans is commendable," said the longhaired one.

"My work is neither to be commended nor chastised," she responded. Archer felt like the latter was directed at the shorthaired one.

"The humans seem to have made an … impression on you," shot back the shorthaired one.

"Is not the principles of IDIC to understand the culture of others?" she questioned, logically.

"That is indeed something V'Lar would say," said the shorthaired one.

Unable to let his girlfriend suffer under either bowl-head's scrutiny, Jon opened his mouth.

"Ambassador V'Lar, even if unorthodox, was an excellent ambassador. She understood my people and embraced many of our customs, winning the esteem of Starfleet and Earth. And, I personally liked her quite a bit. In fact, she seems like one of the most accepting Vulcans I've ever met."

Rather than look relieved, T'Pol stared ahead. "We are staying at the V'Kan."

"Of course," replied the shorthair Vulcan.

Silence ensued for a few moments and then the shorthaired one spoke.

"We will reach your abode in two of your Earth minutes, T'Pol."

The sentiment seemed to sting her. She straightened her spine and mentioned, "I am Vulcan. I may have alliances with Earth, and respect humans, but … I am as Vulcan as you."

"Of course," said the shorthair. "Slip of the tongue."

Jon sat back and thought for all this non-emotion, he'd witnessed one ripe with venom. T'Pol had more inflection in her voice, and seemed more on edge than the other two, but more Vulcan than she'd been in years. He was beginning to understand why she'd wanted to seclude herself. Undoubtedly to Vulcans she seemed emotional.

As they neared another shuttle strip, Archer took in Shi'Kar. All of the buildings looked the same – tall sand-colored buildings that peaked into spires; apparently Vulcans didn't believe in building beautiful structures in the sense Earthlings aspired for beauty and variety. But, there was a certain elegance and grace about the buildings – they were tall and wide, looking like something he might find in Asia or Egypt without the statues or ornate flourishes. Somewhere in between pagodas and mosques, every building looked the same.

When the shuttle landed, Archer stepped out. From their vantage point, they could see the river that flowed near Shi'Kar. But, this river was possibly one of the smallest he'd seen. Nothing compared to the Potomac, Missouri, Mississippi, Colorado or Columbia. It looked tiny and winding. In front of them was a sand-colored building, that Archer guessed was something akin to a hotel. He circled around the back to get his luggage, tucking his head against his arm and wiping off sweat.

As they made their way to the back, T'Pol noticed Archer, again, was having trouble. Giant circles of water had formed on his back and chest, and a smaller ring on his lower back. She wished the temperature would be slightly cooler, but they had entered at the heat of the day.

The human trudged to the back of the shuttle and began saddling himself with his bags. As he heaved one over his shoulder, he realized he wasn't just perspiring -- he was pouring sweat. His forearm dapped against his forehead to catch a spray of it from cascading down his face.

T'Pol joined him and effortlessly added two of his bags to her load. She offered, "Before we landed, I looked at the outside temperature. It's 50 degrees Celsius."

The longhaired Vulcan gave the symbol of a V to T'Pol and said, "Archer." The other one merely glided back into the shuttle and they left.

"Friendly," Archer said, sarcastically, heading toward the inn.

"Sten and Svar do not approve of my relationship with you," she whispered.

The captain stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrows. "You told them?"

"No," she replied.

"I don't understand."

"To a Vulcan, it is obvious, I imagine. I will attempt to restrain myself further," she said. "I would not have minded that they found out, but Sten is an aid to the High Council and has … position. Svar is a cousin of mine; he was more accepting, but still did not approve."

"Sten is the short-haired one?" he asked.

"Yes," she agreed.

Archer shook his head. "Good thing I didn't lean over to kiss you."

Rather than raise her eyebrow, she said quietly, "Yes."

As they made their way into the hotel, they saw an older male Vulcan sitting behind a stone table – his hair gray and skin wrinkled with age. Archer guessed the man must've been over 150, maybe even older.

T'Pol greeted the person behind the counter with the Vulcan salute and began speaking in Vulcan.

Archer'd been studying up ever since T'Pol had come on board, but he only knew enough to know the innkeeper was concerned about the smell of the off-worlder and wondered whether he would be noisy and disturb the other guests. Jon guessed that meant him. She assured the old man that the captain was a dignitary and would only bring prestige to the establishment.

Begrudgingly, the innkeeper provided information on the rooms and muttered something very low to her. Archer waited for clarification, but found only a raised eyebrow from T'Pol. As they made their way inside and down the hall, she mentioned, "He was afraid you were interested in me by the way you were leering."

Jon chuckled. He glanced at her for a few seconds – nothing more, but acknowledged he'd have to watch his facial expressions more than ever. For people who didn't have emotion, he guessed that a slight twitch of the lips could mean a smile and a furrow of the brows could mean a frown.

Walking down one hallway to another, he thought that the inn was just as stifling as outside. Lucky for him, Vulcans didn't believe in air conditioning.

"Great," he mumbled to himself wondering if he'd be a walking fountain for his entire stay.

T'Pol dropped Archer's bags and strolled into her room next door without a key. Archer, lugged his bags in, stumbling inside. His room was not exactly the luxury suite – it was smaller than his cabin on Enterprise with a cot, a stone table, a meditation corner and a bathroom. A shower stall was strangely located near the back of the wall, about six steps away from his bed and separate from the bathroom. There was nothing for entertainment, except apparently meditation. Overall the accommodations seemed meager.

He sat down on the lumpy bed and frowned. Maybe he could think of this as a camping trip … without stars, cool air and a fire. Glancing around the room, he didn't spy a clock and his watch was still set for Earth; he had no idea what time it was, but knew the banquet was soon. Feeling his clothes stick to his body, he decided he had enough time to take a shower and change into a fresh uniform. Beginning to disrobe, he walked over and locked the door.

T'Pol stepped into her room, pleased with the hotel. The bed was made with a fiber called lyth'apa and was considered opulent by Vulcan traveling standards. She sat down on it and immediately noticed the relaxing scent. Spreading her form onto the bed, she marveled at the serenity of the room. The innkeeper had indicated there was a fountain in the center of the entire complex – very rare. She knew these accommodations were luxurious by Vulcan standards and hoped Jonathan would enjoy them. Noting the time according to her watch which she pre-set to the time on Shi'Kar, she decided it best to get ready quickly.

Within a few minutes, she strolled out of her room and knocked on the Jonathan's door. Hearing no answer, she rapped on it again. Her knuckles beat on the door once more as she thought if he delayed much longer, they were going to be late. To Vulcans being either late or early was seen as inconsiderate. She knocked a few more times and tried the door -- locked. Deciding they had no time to dally, she got the innkeeper to assist her.

Jon was in heaven. This was one thing that felt good – a shower. He felt a little exposed, the stall didn't have a shower curtain or door, but he rejoiced in the cold water completely covering his body and smiled as water collected around his feet and funneled to a pipe that he guessed provided water outside to some garden.

"Very efficient," he said.

He cracked open a bottle of what he guessed served the purpose of soap and shampoo. The smell was definitely foreign, giving off an odor that reminded him of a candle in T'Pol's room. Making like the locals, he squished some into his hand and scrubbed up.

After lathering his hair and humming quietly to himself, he heard a slight cough and turned around with a start. Archer stared in stunned silence, unable to make a peep, as the innkeeper raised an eyebrow.

"What the …?" asked Archer, angrily, defensively placing his hands strategically in front of him.

The innkeeper said something in Vulcan as T'Pol whispered a few things in return. With a slight brow twitch, the old man left.

T'Pol stated, "We do not have time for you to shower. We are running late."

"Could you shut the door?" he asked, pointing to the one that led to the hall.

T'Pol wondered about human modesty sometimes as she crossed the room and closed the door.

"Thank you," he grumbled, splashing off any remaining suds. "Now, what the hell was that all about? Why didn't you knock?"

"I did. You didn't answer. I was concerned something had happened to you and we would be unable to meet our scheduled departure," she said.

Archer shut off the water and looked around for a towel, but didn't see one.

"We are running behind," she reminded him.

"Well, I was the one who was invited," he mentioned, scanning the room.

"So you were," replied T'Pol.

"Is there a towel around here?" he asked.

She stepped into the bathroom for a moment and retrieved what to Archer looked like a washcloth.

"Towels are largely unnecessary. The heat usually evaporates moisture quickly."

"I'll take it," he said.

Wiping it quickly over his body, he had to agree: nearly all the water had dried already. Impressed he ruffled his hair with the cloth and jumped into his clothes as T'Pol gave a Vulcan glare, shoving the garments into his hand to speed him up.

As they walked down the hallway, T'Pol casually mentioned, "The innkeeper believes humans are bashful because they are … well-endowed."

Archer snorted and buttoned the last button of his fresh dress uniform, glad that Starfleet issued three to all officers. As he stepped outdoors and followed hurriedly at T'Pol's feet, he thought to himself, "That was with the cold water running. Hmmm."

Chapter Seven

T'Pol shuttled them to the banquet, deliberately speeding (which is apparently unheard of to Vulcans), as Jon shifted in the steel chair.

"I'm sorry. I thought we had more time."

"To Vulcans, it is considered rude to be late, Jonathan," she scolded without emotion. "I thought you were prepared."

"I forgot to set my watch to Vulcan time."

He sighed. The entire evening was going to be a disaster. T'Pol had hovered around him, almost nagging as he quickly jumped into his clothing. He didn't have time to shave or dry his hair, and his face was riddled with stubble and his hair revolted at the Vulcan soap, causing his cowlick to stand nearly on-end. His hand worried the strands, and he finally licked his palm to coax it down, without any luck. The Vulcan gave a disapproving glance, but refused to comment.

Juxtaposition, T'Pol looked beautiful, even radiant. Her purple shimmering robes lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. She was perfectly coiffed, smelled nice and seemed utterly collected.

When they neared the banquet hall – a large stone building mirroring the temple of P'Jem – T'Pol began to re-emphasize all the faux pas he could possibly make, encouraging him not to do any of them.

"It is imperative that you refrain from speaking too loudly."

"Right, no shouting."

"Aim for something barely above a whisper. And if you can contain yourself, do not laugh. Laughing may disturb them."

"I doubt it'll be a hilarious gala – they are Vulcans after all."

As they exited the shuttle, Archer felt the overwhelming heat of the desert again. But, he noticed it had dropped in temperature a bit, cooling down to only mildly oppressive. He wasn't sweating as profusely, but noticed he was having a little trouble breathing. He shook it off; undoubtedly he was tired – after all, Vulcan had much higher gravity than Enterprise or Earth.

As T'Pol pushed the doors open, they noticed Vulcans were seated ceremoniously at tables scattered around the room and Soval at the front, speaking. Archer realized right away they were the last to arrive. His watch, which he corrected to Shi'Kar-time, noted they were only ten minutes late; Vulcans waited for no man, certainly not an Earth one.

Vulcans in dark robes and stoic faces were gathered around plain stone tables. Not only did the faces around the room look bland, so did the room itself – no tablecloths, fancy party favors, balloons or anything that might indicate a feast, a party or celebration. Nothing. Well, what had Archer expected?

He lumbered toward two empty chairs. Apparently T'Pol had the foresight to notify them he was "bringing a date," although, he doubted that was the word she'd used. Colleague probably was the one used to describe their relationship.

As he slid apologetically into a stone chair, Soval briefly stopped his speech to watch Archer uncomfortably sit and smile.

"And for this, V'Lar will remain in the annals of Vulcan history as a leader, a mentor and … an innovator," he said, finishing his speech in Vulcan, and then in English.

Archer lifted his hands to applaud, and seeing no one clap, let them fall helplessly into his lap. T'Pol raised her eyebrow, chastising him for not reviewing their customs more thoroughly. She had not thought to cover that in the shuttle and hoped he wouldn't make any further mistakes.

Soval looked over the audience and mentioned in English, "I have asked that a being from another species, a human, join us on this occasion. The ambassador was quite … intrigued … with him." He pointed his gaze toward Archer again, who wondered briefly if he should stand up and say something. T'Pol shook her head, obviously reading his mind.

The other Vulcans seemed relieved to know this was why a human had joined them.

Archer knitted his brows and smiled weakly, acknowledging the introduction.

Soval then began to speak in purely Vulcan. Although the aliens didn't smile, Archer got the distinct feeling Soval was telling jokes. Watching their eyes drift toward him, he was sure he was the butt of the jest. And he didn't like that.

Sensing Archer becoming wary and confused, T'Pol turned to him and explained, "The ambassador was merely indicating that it would not be a celebration for V'Lar without participation from another culture. And, that she was taken with humans and their customs. He then relayed she … shook hands with humans."

He gave a small smile, still feeling like he was under a microscope.

Soval said a few more words as the Vulcans nodded thoughtfully, and then everyone stood. Archer got to his feet a beat after everyone else.

T'Pol leaned over, whispering, "He indicated that you would radiate feelings. And that to honor those, would be to honor V'Lar. We are free to eat and mingle."

Archer nodded. Well, at least having feelings wouldn't be a problem; it was beginning to feel like everything else he did was. He jaunted up to the tables and noted all the bizarre looking vegetables. A rumbling stomach warned him his body had been strained as if he'd been jogging all day. Not giving it any proteins made his gut unhappy.

He whispered to T'Pol, "Do they have any lentils or beans … anything with protein?"

She shook her head no. "Not at this gathering."

He sighed. Oh well. She'd turned over decisions about food to him while on Earth, he could at least give her the same courtesy. Accompanying her, he asked her to point out things she knew he'd like. T'Pol reminded him that Vulcans ate very little as he piled his food apparently too high. They wandered back to a table and Archer watched her eat and copied her motions.

From the looks around the room, T'Pol wondered if others assumed the two were in a relationship. Although she didn't care what they thought, it bothered her (very unVulcanly) that their eyes were on her. From a distance, they analyzed the captain and she even heard a few of the comments – smelly, taller than they supposed and unshaven.

Interesting that at a banquet for V'Lar, one of the most tolerant and rebellious Vulcans she'd ever met, there would there be so many judging, overly-proud Vulcans. As she nibbled on her food like a rabbit, she relished in the silence of a meal. It was something she'd missed. Eyeing the room, she also noticed a few colleagues she hadn't seen in years and was pleased she would be able to converse about the science directorate's newest white paper on why, of all the known races, Vulcans had the largest brains in both size and weight.

Archer stared at his plate, not looking up, as the rest of the Vulcans did. It was rude to speak until all plates were completely depleted of nourishment. At least he'd read that one in the more than 2,000 pages of Vulcan customs and traditions while visiting attending banquets. Even the banquets themselves varied – for the announcement of bonding (whatever that was), people were allowed to chat while eating. And during a banquet at someone's accomplishment, eating and standing was encouraged, especially since the meal was so long and included various stages.

As he forced half a plate heaped with vegetables into his mouth, he looked at the rest with contempt. It was also rude to not eat everything on his plate, although he questioned whether they'd accuse him of being a glutton instead.

After the last bite was eaten, everyone stood up and began to quietly converse. Archer left his seat and grabbed at his collar. The room was warm, undoubtedly due to all the lit torches and … he secretly wondered about all the "hot air" in the room. Deciding it was too sweltering, he unbuttoned his collar and showed a small patch of chest hair in order to get a little breeze. Guessing showing any body hair was undoubtedly rude, he felt his comfort in this one instance outweighed social graces.

The night air touched his skin as he noticed he wasn't perspiring again. Maybe that was for the best – gushing sweat was certainly impolite as well.

T'Pol saw him struggle. "Are you all right?" she asked, quietly.

"Yeah. It's just hot."

She noticed Archer's face was getting redder, but he wasn't leaking water from his pores as he did earlier in the day. The thought was swept away and, in the meantime, an associate from the Science Directorate sauntered up to her.

"T'Pol," he said, then began to speak in Vulcan.

Archer hung on the balls of his feet, waiting to be introduced. Instead, their conversation continued and he decided he didn't care. Rather than stay at her side, he wandered around the room, eavesdropping as much as possible with the limited Vulcan he knew, until he realized all the conversations were dull, not at all like V'Lar's stories. Everyone talked about work or Vulcan politics (which he didn't know anything about), and no one seemed particularly interested in him or even spoke his language.

Eventually making it over to a table, he sat down and stared at the stone structure. He wished he'd brought a book or something to occupy the time. More than anything, he wished his head would stop throbbing.

Seeing the human alone, Soval strolled over to his direction and leaned over.

"Archer," he said.

The human looked up as Soval said, "You might enjoy the air on the veranda."

As they stepped onto the patio, Archer felt the temperature drop. The suns were beginning to set – one crept lower than the other. The smaller one lingered reluctantly in the heavens as vibrant reds spilled across the sky, drenching the clouds in wine. It was absolutely breathtaking. He thought instantly of T'Pol, wishing he could've seen his first Vulcan sunset with her and looked over his shoulder at her. Through the archway, he saw a glimmer in her eye as if she was enjoying talking with old colleagues and possibly friends. At least one of them was having fun.

Soval confessed, "I have grown accustomed to the climate on Earth. I find Vulcan too warm." He stared at Archer's beet red face.

Archer smiled. Was the ambassador trying to make him feel at ease? That was a new one.

The Vulcan sauntered over to a bistro-style table, picked up a bottle and offered him an alcoholic drink, collected from cactus on the planet. Jon hesitated, but decided to be polite. Soval was making an attempt, so could he.

"I have noticed you were late this evening," Soval mentioned.

Archer frowned, "I wanted to take a shower. I felt a little ripe and I know Vulcans have a sensitive sense of smell."

"Perhaps that was best," the Vulcan said. "Are you staying long?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to be flexible."

"Accommodating T'Pol's schedule, perhaps?"

Jon smiled. "Perhaps."

Soval nodded and threw back the liquid in his hand. Archer watched him and did the same. It burned his throat and made his head swim a little bit more, but was sweet tasting.

"That might be difficult. I hear T'Pol wants to participate in the Kolinahr," Soval said. "The ritual to purge emotions."

Archer was bewildered; he'd heard of the Kolinahr only in passing from one of the Vulcans that worked with his father. After the somewhat likable Vulcan came back from the ritual, he was colder and more unpleasant.

"She didn't tell me that," Archer said.

"I see." The Vulcan paused. "I take it your relationship has continued then?"

He whispered, "That's none of your business."

"I must admit, I did not think it would last this long. I thought perhaps she was infatuated with humans. I can somewhat understand that," he concluded. "You have some … acceptable qualities."

Archer furrowed his brow.

But, before he could say anything, Soval diverted the conversation. "I take it you have heard of Kolinahr?"

Archer nodded.

"Some people take years to fulfill this ritual and are completely changed," Soval said, retrieving another drink for himself and Archer.

Archer's head was already swimming, but he decided not to refuse the ambassador's hospitality.

"Why are you telling me this? You don't think she should?"

"I think doing so in a week or less is … aggressive. T'Pol is not a typical Vulcan; she's always been more emotional. In fact, it's why I recruited her for the position on Earth."

Rubbing his temples to ease his headache, Archer had to admit, it was part of why he liked and admired her so much.

Soval continued, "Undoubtedly she will be unable to complete the process in so short a time, and it is not recommended to leave before the process is complete."

"Do you want her to stay here on Vulcan?" Archer asked, his heart beginning to pump wildly in his chest. Shaking it off, he decided it was the drink and remained calm.

"Not necessarily. I am suggesting it would be unwise for her to begin Kolinahr, and travel back to Enterprise. She should choose one or the other – purge herself of emotions and remain here, or postpone or forgo the ritual and travel back with you."

"She said she wanted to be less emotional," Archer offered. "I want her to do what she wants …."

"I am certain almost every Vulcan at this party can feel her emotions."

Jon's hand dipped against his forehead as he fought a sickening feeling coming over him. Soval's eyes fell onto him with concern as Archer produced a forced smile, urging it away.

"It's been tough to reach her lately. I think she knows she feels emotional. I want to help, but she won't really let me."

"I can see you care about her," Soval offered.

Jon casually steadied himself against the railing. "I love her very much."

Soval raised his eyebrow at the captain's candor. Although the human was passionate about things, it was unlike him to give up so much information or talk to Soval as a trusted friend.

"I'm not certain what the right path is for T'Pol, but she seems permanently fixed between logic and emotion. Perhaps being with humans, like you, is what's best for her."

"I jus wan her to be happy," Archer mumbled.

The Vulcan narrowed his eyes, wondering if the human was drunk. "Are you all right?"

Trying to breathe, he gulped for air and forced out a sentence. "Yeah. Jus gimme a minute."

With his heart thundering, his lungs constricting and his head pounding, Archer realized he was seriously ill, but didn't want to worry anyone. He'd read it was rude to leave a party early – everyone left at the same time … when it was over. By his watch, they still had another hour to go. He was almost home free. Desperately wanting to hang in there and prevent embarrassing T'Pol, he tried to snap himself back to life.

"Archer?" Soval asked, watching the man break into a cold sweat.

Suddenly, like a felled tree, Archer met the ground.