Two Things Are Certain, Part Three

Chapter Eight

When Archer woke up, he was back at the inn. As he tried to shake the confusion from his head, he acknowledged the throbbing languishing there. It was like a hangover, but smacked of weariness and disorientation.

He glanced around trying to determine where he was – it was like his room, but different. The meditation corner displayed lavender colored candles, rather than crimson ones, and he saw a few of T'Pols personal items scattered around the living space. He didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce this was T'Pol's room.

Now that he knew his location, he tried to figure out what had happened. Blinking his eyes slowly he recalled his last memory: he had a conversation with Soval about T'Pol when suddenly everything went black.

Hearing rustling in the other room, he leaned up to see what the noise was: T'Pol was walking out of the bathroom with a washcloth.

"How'd I get here?" Archer asked, groggily.

Securing the washcloth on his head, she narrowed her eyes. "Phlox indicated you should take the hypospray every four hours to combat the affects of the heat, lack of oxygen and gravity," she said. "You did not."

She was right. In all the commotion to leave, he'd forgotten to give himself the injection. Although T'Pol was always fairly unemotional, at least to humans, Jonathan noticed she looked concerned and maybe even a smidge angry. She was obviously worried about how he felt and was determined to take care of him, but something in her eyes looked … upset – very possibly at the ruckus he had certainly caused at the banquet ... the one where he couldn't do anything right.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you," he said.

"I am Vulcan. I cannot be embarrassed. Although the incident was … unfortunate."

Yeah, she was upset.

The problem was -- he couldn't win. Coming to Vulcan was possibly the dumbest thing he'd done in a long time; he could've declined if he'd really wanted to. His pride fueled 30% of the decision to attend – the prestige of Starfleet and Earth relations fueled 50% and roughly 20% was dedicated to wanting to be with T'Pol. It was unlike him to make emotional decisions or ones that would help his personal life, but after weighing everything, he'd decided to agree. It just so-happened it would help his personal life … at least, that's what he'd concluded in the end.

"I'm sorry I put you out. Soval wasn't upset, was he?"

"He is a Vulcan. Vulcans do not become upset."

Archer sighed.

He thought about T'Pol's visit to Earth and knew he'd put up with a lot. Sure, she was able to fit in a little more – after all, she was already used to human customs. Although he knew some things about Vulcans, overall, he didn't know much, especially in regard to social activities.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoping to smooth things over.

"Jonathan, I don't think you understand the gravity of the issue -- you could've easily died. Fortunately for you, your lungs were unable to capture air causing you to pass out before something more serious happened – like a heart attack, blood clot or other permanent and serious damage."

He gave a weak nod and fainter smile, trying to charm his way out of trouble. "Well, you can't blame me for forgetting."

Apparently, that wasn't true. "I suggest you always carry additional vials and a hypospray at all times. That would help you not to … forget."

That sounded a little condescending.

"Not to mention the fact that you drank," she said.

"I didn't want to be rude," he said. "When Soval gave me the drink, I wanted to appear gracious."

"I see," she replied. "Perhaps your health is worth being impolite. And declining a drink is much less rude than being carried out in a stretcher, causing the banquet to end early and forcing our relationship into the forefront."

His mouth opened slightly to defend himself as she continued.

"You were moaning my name as we placed you in the shuttle. Although I'm sure they were suspicious, the words you uttered in your delirium confirmed our relationship."

"Oh … look … I'm really sorry."

It was impossible to tell him, she was nearly an outcast from her planet – choosing to travel with Earthlings over Vulcans was tantamount to ripping up the sacred texts of Surak or laughing during the Kolinahr: it was never done.

The stares she'd received just showing up with Jonathan indicated that she was an outsider, but she could hear their whispers and logical treatises while the captain was loaded into a shuttle as he lay semi-conscious, whispering her name. The words that had left their Vulcan lips were neither flattering, nor deserved: abomination. That was the word they had used for her – deciding that any Vulcan who showed emotion and would have relations with a human out of pon farr was something dirty and unclean. She was an affront to their logic and perhaps Surak himself.

Few Vulcans jumped to her defense, and even those that did found something wrong with Jonathan or her. Soval, her mentor, had only slightly rebuked his peers as he mentioned T'Pol could be forgiven for her infatuation with a human and their emotions … especially since she had spent so much time with them. Her mentor dismissed their relationship as a "phase" she was going through.

It had been easy to leave the party, but difficult to have listened to their slanders. As if to prove she was more Vulcan than they, she had ignored their words and with grace and humility, accompanied her companion to his destination, even though Soval had suggested that for the sake of her reputation, she should travel separately.

T'Pol eyed Jonathan now. His eyes were sorry, but he seemed unwilling to accept the responsibility of how he got into this situation. To challenge him, she continued.

"In addition, you did not read, as thoroughly as I'd hoped, the customs and traditions of Vulcan banquets."

He furrowed his brow. "The Vulcan database had more than 2,000 pages on Vulcan banquets alone." Waiting for a rebuttal for only a second, he said, "Besides, you managed to dump me to talk with your other colleagues. I can't help that I made mistakes, forgot a couple of things, drank a little …. Humans do that. We're not perfect … apparently not like the Vulcans."

"Jonathan, this has nothing to do with being human. You were ill prepared to come here."

"I didn't have a lot of time to prepare. I didn't think I was coming. Remember until today, I wasn't invited!"

"You're raising your voice. The other patrons of this establishment …."

"Well, you seem already embarrassed of me and our relationship. It doesn't really matter if I yell a little! Remember, I'm an illogical, inferior human."

Genuinely becoming concerned for his welfare, she said, "Please calm down. You are still unwell." His face reddened and his lungs panted at his anger.

"No, I won't calm down! I never should've come."

She seemed taken a back, studying him in silence.

"I'm not going to just sit here and be insulted by you and others." He began to get up, despite feeling ill.

"Jonathan …," she warned.

"Leave me alone," he said.

"But, you are unwell," she countered. "Perhaps we can discuss this rationally …."

"I've tried to discuss this rationally with you. We talked about it on Enterprise, we talked about it in the shuttle before we got here and now. You just don't get it!"

He was impossible when he was like this – and it caused her temper to flare. Every time they discussed it, he would become emotional and begin to raise his voice. Taking a cleansing breath, she tried to reason with him again.

"Your prejudice against my people is getting the better of you. Perhaps if you have time to reflect …."

"I'm intolerant?! That's a laugh. I've been scoffed at ever since I've gotten here by pretty much everyone on this planet – and that includes you."

Something about that remark stung; she thought it was unfair. "Jonathan …."

"Leave me alone!" he ground out. He clumsily walked out of her room and stumbled into his own with her directly at his heels. He collapsed onto the bed and huffed in irritation, drawing his forearm across his head.

Typically, she would back off and do the Vulcanly thing: wait. But, something about his persistence, his refusal to take responsibility for his actions and his accusations made her … mad.

"No, I will not leave you alone," she countered, already having barged in.

Agitated, he fumed, "Well, don't worry. I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

"I never asked you to come. I knew this would be difficult for you …."

Sarcastically, he shot back, "Gee, you certainly haven't helped. Maybe I should've let you embarrass yourself on Earth."

"I'm more acquainted with human customs. I had taken the time to study them and learn about them before accompanying you. I was not as foolish as you have been."

Archer's face tomatoed. "All right. Fine! You want to have it out? Here it is! I'm not going to let you insult me. And, I don't give a shit about the idiotic purging of your damned emotions …."

She snorted slightly, "This ritual is important to me."

"Yeah, this trip … actually the past week has been all about you," he said. "You haven't given any consideration to me or us."

"You are being unreasonable," she said. Her voice was raised louder than he'd ever heard it. "My visit to this planet is to honor a former colleague, or have you forgotten about V'Lar's death?"

"I think you're the one who's pretty damned unreasonable!" he yelled. "I want to support you in honoring her, but it seems this whole thing is more about you than her."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"It's been about you trying to get back in touch with Vulcan ideals. This has nothing to do with V'Lar. You just can't see that."

"Typical of you to bring up the word Vulcan as if it were a badge of shame. It has been years since I've seen my own people – years since I've reconnected with them. And you're determined to ruin it."

"Ruin it?!" His eyes narrowed. "You just won't accept you're not like them any more, T'Pol. But, you're too damned stubborn to see that."

"You are the stubborn one."

"Fine! I'll just …."

She argued, "Just what? What are you prepared to do about it?"

"Go home," he growled.

"You already stated that. I think that's an excellent idea," she concluded. "I'll prepare transportation for you tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Well, fine! If I leave here, I don't think you need to worry about me anymore," he added.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean I've had it! If I'm not good enough for you, then you should go find somebody else," he said, seething. "Maybe a Vulcan to share in your non-emotions."

"What?" she asked a little softer.

"I mean, I think we should just go back to a professional relationship … only a professional relationship."

The two locked eyes, letting the comment drift into the air. They were silent, as Archer continued to glower at her. Her expression became milder as the impact of his statement slammed against her.

This was an unexpected turn of events. She'd anticipated that he would rant and rave, but didn't think he'd level this at her. What concerned her was how serious he appeared -- like he meant every word he said, and somehow she began to think about how he must be feeling. This relationship, up until last week, could've been classified as perfect. They'd never argued (as she'd gathered human couples were prone to do) and enjoyed each other's company. So, to say this, and so earnestly, meant he must've been brooding about this eventuality for some time.

"You don't mean it," she said.

"Isn't that what you want?" he asked. "I've been trying to be supportive, even if I don't understand. But, you haven't been meeting me halfway," he admitted.

She remained quiet.

"And, I've tried to be gracious and follow your customs, as much as I can or know how to. It's just not good enough. I'm too loud, I pile too much food on my plate … I guess … I guess the truth to you is … I'm just not good enough for you."

She searched his face and her feelings. "You would end our relationship so easily?" she finally asked.

"I don't feel like you're giving me much of a choice. How did you feel when you thought Trip was embarrassed of you?"

She was silent.

"Well, I feel awful," he said. He wasn't kidding; his stomach was threatening to launch itself through his throat and his head was spinning. Being ill and emotionally wrung out was wreaking havoc on his body. Weakly, he got up – barely making it into the bathroom to throw up.

T'Pol folded her arms and stared at the ground, thinking she'd been selfish. He was obviously unwell, but she'd insisted on finishing an argument -- something she was normally loath to do.

She strolled over to the doorway of the bathroom and peered in. "Jonathan, are you all right?"

The corners of her mouth tugged down when she heard him wretch.

"The doctor said you may feel sick to your stomach for a few more hours. I can ask him to return if you would like," she added.

"I don't need your help," he whined.

T'Pol spied the washcloth on the floor next to his bed, obviously thrown down in haste, and picked it up. She glided over to the bathroom and crouched down, placing it on his forehead. He leaned over the commode and spilled his stomach again as she caressed his hair … and for the first time in weeks felt his thoughts.

She detected anger, weariness, illness and … hurt. In fact, "hurt" was the primary emotion. He wanted to be with her, she was right about that. Of course, he'd realized he'd made some mistakes, but his intentions were good: the shower he'd taken was to help prevent the Vulcans from smelling him; the alcohol he'd drunk was accepted because of Soval's kindness; and he'd allowed her and the innkeeper to invade his privacy while putting on a brave face. Truly every action he took was meant to bring her honor, rather than shame.

Sifting through his thoughts, she realized the whole reason he'd wanted to come to Vulcan in the first place: to be with her … and see where she grew up and what her family was like. In other words, he wanted to experience her world and life through her eyes. It was his love for her that had prompted this curiosity, rather than his pride; T'Pol had for the past week believed it was mostly his hubris.

Letting the touch linger, she ran her fingers through his hair. At times, Jonathan underneath all the blustering was a quiet soul who had difficulty himself dealing with and accepting emotions. It seemed, as humans would say, his heart was in the right place.

Regret tingled down her spine. She had surmised he had tried to tell her these things before, in his own way, but she'd been resistant to the information -- wanting to show the Vulcans she was just as reasoned and logical as they were. Possibly she was dismissive of the information because she felt, to use human terms, 'she had something to prove' … and maybe because every time she brought this up, he would begin shouting. Undoubtedly this had touched an old nerve, the suspicion he had of Vulcans most of his life. But, ultimately, Jonathan was right – she had been prejudiced as well.

Her brain fixed on a bit of true logic: V'Lar herself was more emotional than most Vulcans, and she was one of the most respected ambassadors the planet had known. In fact, that was something that T'Pol had always admired and respected; the woman knew how to be Vulcan without seeming rude, obnoxious or snobby. Most commendable of all, she was eager to embrace other cultures. Her species was hardly ever eager.

She turned these thoughts over while he focused on emptying his stomach. Feeling her smoothing back his hair in long, gentle strokes, he began to feel better. Within a few moments, she fetched a glass of salt water for him and instructed him to drink.

Brushing her hand across his forehead, she petted his hair back. He was warmer to the touch that she ever remembered, his face was flushed and his eyes looked like Porthos after he had been scolded.

"I believe I understand your desire to see Vulcan," she said. "I did not understand you wished to see the places I had a fondness for. I … apologize."

He frowned. "I thought I'd been clearer."

In many ways, she was right: he didn't know the Vulcan customs as well as he should've (hell, he'd known her and other Vulcans for years – at this point he had no excuse), he'd forgotten to take his injection (he rarely forgot to do things) and maybe he'd been too willing to fall back into old habits – including thinking the Vulcans were out to purposefully make him feel unwelcome.

When he was on Earth, he treated the jibes that humans made against them as a test, and his response was to thoroughly and unconditionally love T'Pol in front of them – showing them up. But, that was a human response … one driven by emotions like pride and fueled by his need to show her fairness.

Besides, he wasn't serving on a ship full of Vulcans for several years having been denied the privilege of seeing Earth. Certainly he'd experience the same emotions she would … or anyone would – the need to belong. Maybe the point he hadn't made to T'Pol was that he didn't really belong on Earth, just as much as she didn't belong on Vulcan. Really, he believed they belonged to each other – and the location never mattered: Vulcan, Earth, Enterprise – he didn't care.

"I'm sorry about everything," he whispered. "I should've known more customs. I should've taken the compound. And you're right – I let past grudges cloud my thinking and judgment."

"You were correct as well; I was thinking more about myself than V'Lar," she said.

Nodding, he decided to apologize for his behavior. "Sorry I raised my voice. I let my emotions get the better of me."

"Thank you."

She pressed her lips to one of his red stained cheeks, smelling sweat, vomit, alcohol and soap on him. And yet … she could not prevent herself from feeling deeply about him.

"Does this mean we're really done fighting?" he asked, quietly.

"I hope so." After a few moments and staring deeply into his green eyes, she asked, "Do you wish to continue our relationship?"

"Yeah … I … I guess I said it out of anger …," he said, his voice trailing off. After pausing for a few moments, he continued. "I love you, T'Pol. I love the way we've been … maybe not for the past week … but other than that everything's seemed perfect."

Because of the relief spreading across her features now, he knew the threat to end the relationship had been particularly hard on her.

"I'm sorry," he added.

She stroked his face again. "I cherish thee as well."

His lip muscles sloped up – it was the first time since arriving on Vulcan he'd felt like he wanted to smile.

With a modicum of difficulty, he picked himself off the floor as T'Pol bent under his arm – permitting him to lean on her. Carefully, she walked him to bed and worked off his clothes until he was in his Starfleet skivvies. He shivered lightly as she drew the covers around him.

She said, "You should get some rest."

"What time's the funeral?" he asked, sleepily.

Rather than correct him with the appropriate name, she let the question stand. "1800 hours." With a near sigh, she said, "I'll bring your breakfast tomorrow morning."

Grinning, he said, "That's sweet of you. Thanks."

As she turned to leave and allow him to get some rest, he whispered, "You know you could sleep over here."

She'd be suffocated by his emotions, forced into a bed that was too small for both of them and privy to the scent of bile and sweat.

"I would like that," she responded.