Part 14

A/N: Archangemon: Good stuff! You're spot on about Archer knew that T'Pol had feelings for Trip. He just didn't want to remember it that way. I don't think Archer is an ego maniac, but (as much as I love the character) he does have a solid ego – at least I think so. And you're very right; he's made a lot of sacrifices. T'Pol has made very few. I think this chapter will explain more on that.

T'Pol walked out into the courtyard. The area was always one of her favorites and was used for meditation and reflection. The wandering terracotta-colored tile that lay against the tiny chiseled rocks, the deep red of the ty'ma plant that fanned out like an iris and a small, bubbling fountain in the back were something even she would say was -- beautiful.

As she turned to him, he acknowledged her presence without turning her head, staring into the day-time sky.

"T'Pol, it seems he understands the complexity of the bond. Although I doubt he will ever be comfortable with being able to see, with clarity, moments of your past, I believe he has accepted them."

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll rule in our favor?"

He remained silent.

T'Pol said, "V'Lin indicated you would most likely rule against us."

Nothing.

"Sovok?" she asked. "You've indicated that Jonathan accepts information. Isn't that key to the bond?"

The man gave a slow nod. "Yes. Acceptance is of paramount importance in a bond."

"So you will rule in our favor?" she said.

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"I said, 'no.'" Turning, his dark eyes stared into hers.

"Why?"

Sovok raised an eyebrow. "My concern does not lie with Archer."

"I don't understand."

"I know," he said.

She spoke a few words – they weren't a challenge, merely a statement. "I don't need your permission to join with him."

He faced her, a bland expression on his features. "Then why do you seek it?"

Strolling away, as if he wanted to be left alone, he walked further into his courtyard. T'Pol gave a near frown and stared down at her feet.

One time while playing in the courtyard, she skinned her knee tearing the flesh enough to watch the wound pour green liquid. Giving a firm pout, she tried to stifle her cries – she'd been told suppression was the appropriate thing to do. After only a few minutes of sitting on the ground huffing and puffing -- trying to contain her emotions -- her uncle joined her.

"What are you doing?" Sovok asked.

"I am attempting to control my emotions."

"It hurts, does it not?"

"My knee?" She blew at her kneecap.

"No, controlling your emotions."

She nodded feebly. "Sometimes it seems the harder I try to suppress my feelings, the more powerful they become."

A smile lit in his eyes. "That will always be true. Fortunately, you will not always want to cry over scraped knees."

"I already that lesson. I have wanted to shed tears over burns and bruises as well. They are painful, too."

Licking his lips, as they twitched, he crouched down. "No, the most challenging is the pain of emotion – saying goodbye to a friend or colleague, watching an animal or a person suffer, seeing a relative die and the feeling of you have disappointed someone you respect."

"I have not witnessed those yet."

Stroking her hair in a rare moment of kindness, he agreed. "One day you will."

"Have you skinned your knee?" she asked. It was still difficult for her. The blood was running down her leg.

"Many times," he said.

She puffed her lip as tears clung to her eyes.

"If you feel the urge so strongly, perhaps you should give in. You are still young," he said.

"I cannot. Father will see me and scold me for it."

Picking her up, he said a few words. "If you cry into my shoulder, your father will not see your tears."

She buried her face into his robes.

He whispered, "I believe I have something that will help your knee."

As little tears left her eyes and drenched his shoulder, he admitted something quietly to her. "Perhaps petting our selhat will quiet your emotions, too."

Sovok was stern, stoic and emotionless. But, there was sometimes a tenderness to him; even now his words seemed like a hint or a clue. She closed her eyes and meditated to glean the answer.

V'Lin poured tea into three ceramic mugs as Archer attempted to rub away the ache behind his eyes.

Saaya gripped one mug and quietly spoke. "I remember when Sovok and I were matched. We were seven years old. I am unaware of what human children are like, Archer, but … as a child I had no concept of what marriage would mean."

Archer smiled. "Human children aren't different. Although, I remember when I was seven there was a girl who tried to kiss me. It was behind the school near the playground. I pretended that I didn't enjoy it."

V'Lin tipped a brow. "I did not realize humans began mating rituals so young."

He hid a laugh. "No …. Not mating. On Earth kissing between children is innocent."

"Then why kiss?" V'Lin asked.

He shrugged. "Show affection I guess. Maybe even practice for when it's not innocent."

"Practice?" Saaya asked.

The Vulcan woman exchanged a disapproving glance as Archer realized this is why humans were seen as hedonistic barbarians. Deciding to steer the conversation away from himself, he threw out a question.

"Why are children matched at seven?" he asked.

Saaya explained. "It is at this age that children begin to learn the art of suppressing their emotions; they are emotionally prepared to share their katras in a bond. And it is to … honor … the seven-year cycles of Pon Farr."

Sounds logical, he thought.

"All children are matched?" Archer asked.

"Most," V'Lin said. "Not all. Some Vulcans believe the one who will share that bond is sought rather than selected."

"Must be difficult. Vulcans don't seem to believe in dating," he said.

With amusement in her eyes, V'Lin whispered to him. "Vulcans can satisfy the Pon Farr without … dating. That is how I met my betrothed."

A lop-sided smile wormed its way onto his face. He got the feeling she was sharing intimate information, but enjoying it. And for once in his life, he didn't mind the girl-talk. Vulcan women went light on the details and easy on the gossip.

"So, you helped him …."

"He helped me," she said, correcting him.

"And you … knew?" he asked.

"Not right away. And yet, how I felt about him defied logic."

Sipping his tea, he thought this was getting good.

"When my mating cycle was over, I was … disappointed."

"Disappointed?" he asked. He didn't want the details, but he wanted to make sure ….

"I felt … unhappy that our union had ended."

"I see. What happened?" he asked.

"I contacted him for her," Saaya confessed. "I understood her dilemma. I suggested to Stev that V'Lin was experiencing … side effects."

V'Lin looked into her mug. "I did not understand. I believed I wanted to focus solely on my career."

Archer scrunched his eyebrows together as Saaya stood taller, rebuking the silent accusation. "What I told Stev wasn't necessarily a lie. The side effects were deep care."

V'Lin's eyes glittered. "It is not unusual when the mating time has ended for waves of the madness to pass over a Vulcan. They do not burn the insides as Pon Farr does, but they can be … uncomfortable. He came right away."

"I take it you didn't really experience these side effects?" he asked.

"I had side effects, but perhaps not the ones from Pon Farr. We were wed within the week."

"How did you know he was your bondmate?" Archer asked.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "I … knew."

Grinning at her, he agreed. "I know exactly what you mean."

"I suspected you might," she agreed.

His jaw dropped open. Suddenly things began to come into focus. Not only was T'Pol's aunt less traditional, but perhaps she was helpful because she understood their plight.

"You scolded T'Pol for --" he began.

V'Lin shook her head mildly. "She willingly chose; she was not driven to mate. On Vulcan, that is a very important distinction."

"On Earth, it's not uncommon for coupling, even with those who aren't your spouse, before marrying. Humans are driven to that biological need. I can't imagine Vulcans are so dissimilar."

"Jonathan, Vulcans are not humans. It is the suppression of that drive and other emotions that make us who we are."

He frowned and she explained in more detail. "When Vulcans give into that need, outside Pon Farr, it is believed they do so because they have found their bondmate."

Nodding, he was beginning to understand why the family was in an uproar.

"T'Pol's not a typical Vulcan," he said.

Saaya agreed too readily. "No, she is not. She never has been."

"Living aboard a ship full of humans who act on their biological needs must've been challenging. Perhaps our customs --"

"She is still expected to act like a Vulcan," V'Lin said.

Archer hung his head. "No leeway?"

"Of course there is. She does not need our approval to wed."

"I know the consequences if she doesn't get it," he said.

She agreed. "Yes. You understand the importance of this to her and have done everything within your power to see she receives approval. I believe that is one of the things I like most about you."

Saaya leaned in, as if to divulge a state secret. "I am also rather … impressed … with you."

He smiled. "Well, glad I have your seal of approval."

Saaya's expression turned mild, as if she suppressed more information. "I believe Sovok is not unhappy with you as T'Pol's choice."

A strange smile overcame his face. "So, what's the deal?"

V'Lin poked her eyebrow into the air. "More tea?"

"Maybe I should go out there," Jon said. As he turned on his heel to step outside, V'Lin reached her hand around his bicep and Saaya pushed his mug forward toward the tea kettle.

"Pour more tea, V'Lin," she said.

T'Pol padded her feet after Sovok finally finding him on some throw pillow outside in front of a long candle. It is Vulcan ritual that one is never to be disturbed while meditating. And yet, she found herself leaning in.

"Sovok," she said. Her tone was impatient.

"You were never one to let things go," he remarked. His steely eyes rested on hers and he offered her a seat on the throw pillow next to him.

"I disagree with your assessment."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Jonathan and I care about each other deeply."

The Vulcan's face remained unchanged. Blandly, he asked a few questions. "Have you met his family?" Sovok asked.

T'Pol shook her head. "No, he has no family. Both parents have died."

"Aunts and uncles?" he asked.

T'Pol knitted her brow. "Not that he is close to."

"Are they alive?" he asked.

She fought the recesses of her brain and only after several seconds came up with an answer. "He has an uncle in Wyoming."

"You went to a banquet with him. You were … embarrassed."

"He murmured my name among my colleagues. As if we were … lovers."

"But, you are and you were before that celebration."

T'Pol wanted to sigh, but refrained from indulging in it. Sitting next to him, she watched as he continued to grill her.

"When faced with pain and suffering, you turned away from him?" he asked.

"V'Lar?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I needed to prepare – it was important that I maintain my heritage." Challenging him with her eyes, she noticed he didn't rebuke that.

"And your children. If you have them, what heritage will they maintain?" he asked.

She blinked quickly. "It is improbable we will have children."

"Not impossible."

"Very well, if we have children, we will raise them according to both cultures."

The older man leveled his eyes on her. "Have you asked him his feelings on this matter?"

T'Pol's eyes frowned. "No."

"How do you know that is the proper action, then?"

She folded her legs, sitting Indian style. "We would meet each other half-way. It seems logical."

"I see."

There was disapproving quiet.

"T'Pol, do you know why you entered a mating cycle early?"

The Vulcan swallowed. "No."

"You engaged in sexual relations before your cycle was due."

She waited for more information.

"Seven months after mating outside Pon Farr happens, the cycle is triggered."

"So, my Pon Farr had something to do with …."

"Commander Tucker? Yes."

She watched the sunset that was only now showing. A pink hue scattered along the sky, dousing the swirling red clouds in a golden hue. As she looked out at the descending suns, an emotion – one that had been running rampant for some time -- crushed her chest: guilt.

"I was unaware," she said.

"It is also released when you return to Vulcan or find your bondmate. I am attempting to determine which is applicable to you."

Swallowing, she nodded. "I hope you know, I care for Jonathan. My urge to mate may have ramifications from another, but no one save him stirs me or my emotions."

Without agreeing or disagreeing, he leaned forward. "Let me probe into your mind."

She hesitated, and then agreed with a single head bob. Holding out her chin with defiance, she waited for him to take control of her mind.

Dressed in a leather jacket, Archer entered into the Chinese restaurant near the bay. It was quiet, secluded – and far away from the press or anyone else who had any questions about what might happen in the Expanse.

"Hi!" he heard as he walked in.

"Rebecca!"

He smiled at a 36-year old blonde in a clingy black dress that gave a small wave and walked to her. Throwing their arms around each other, they hugged and then gave each other a peck. When the peck was over, they awkwardly sat down.

"Your friend … Sharon?" he asked. At the time he'd called to meet up with Rebecca, her friend's whereabouts were unknown. With seven million people or more dead, it meant if someone hadn't responded to family or friends by now, chances were good they didn't make it.

"She contacted me this morning. She wasn't in the part of Venezuela that was hit."

Archer's visage brightened. "What a relief."

"Yeah," she said. "She was doing research, deep in the jungles in the area. She thought she felt an earthquake. She had no idea …."

Her face was a mixture of pain and thankfulness.

A waiter, one they'd known for years, welcomed them and offered to bring their favorites. With a head nods and smiles, both agreed easily and he hurried off to the kitchen.

As soon as he'd left, Beck seemed to get to the primary item worrying her.

"I knew as soon as you contacted me that you've been asked to do something about this. Haven't you?"

She clearly meant the attack. Nudging his glass forward by centimeters, she'd filled in the rest of the blanks.

"I knew it," she said. Her hands worked their way toward his and a frown overtook her face.

He reached his hand around hers. "It's okay."

Worry in her voice, she said, "I heard an update to the count: 6 million."

Although he knew it was higher, he didn't correct her. "Starfleet is going to do everything in its power –"

A tear managed to make it's way to her eye and then stream down her face. It was that emotion that made him want to hold her, reassure her.

Catching her tears on his thumb he stared at her. And before he realized the words had formed on his lips, he whispered them to her.

"Everything will be okay."

"No it won't," she said.

The water collecting in her eyes spilled faster and her lips quivered.

"I'll be okay," he whispered. His hand cupped her face, letting the tears stream onto it.

She rubbed her thumb across his hand. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she ended her crying. Brushing her hand against her own face, she looked down into her lap. He'd seen her cry when her brother died, but never before that and never after – even in their arguments and misunderstandings.

"Sorry, I know the last thing you wanted was someone blubbering about …"

"You're beautiful," he said, interrupting her.

It took her off guard and she spent a few minutes studying the tablecloth.

"You haven't run into any good-looking female aliens this year?" she asked.

She asked that every year, despite the fact they hadn't been seeing each other for four years. Counting the one on his bridge, he smirked.

"A few."

With something a little darker, she leaned on her elbows. "I don't suppose you're seeing any of them?"

Unsure of his smile, he produced one anyway. "No."

"Good."

Staring down at her empty plate, she shook her head. And then once she had, she stared into his eyes and he couldn't help but stare back. When the waiter carried two plates back to them, Archer copped a bold move.

Intercepting the man, he asked a question he hadn't cleared with the woman sharing the table.

"Can we have these to go?"

Her lips swept up in a smile and he grinned back at her like it was plastered on his face. When two bags were produced, he took them into his fingers and stood – hurried to leave.

"You still live around here?"

She tossed her coat on and headed out the door. "No."

Hailing a shuttlecar taxi, the two disappeared into it and began to kiss. When the vehicle finally stopped, he couldn't believe it had already arrived – the two had seemingly kissed for minutes … not several minutes bordering on an hour. When arriving at her doorstep the two walked up three flights of steps – hardly noticing the distance – thanks to frequent and urgent embraces. Dropping the containers of Chinese at the door, most likely spilling their contents, her hand slid around his and led him to the back room.

"Oh, God, Jon," she whispered into his ear, pulling him into the back to a bedroom.

Kissing her neck, he fumbled to pull her blouse over her head. When he did, she joked with him.

"You act like you haven't done this since …."

That was a little more than two years ago, a few weeks before he left on Enterprise. Rushing his hands over her, he could tell she got the impression that was probably the truth.

He shoved her body closer and felt his hormones wreak havoc as he kissed her frantically. Lips pressed against her throat, he lowered her to the bed while trying to ignore the disturbing flashes of someone else who occupied his mind. A glimpse of a woman with dark brown hair and mysterious amber eyes entered his brain and then vanished.

Shaking his head, he edged back.

"What?" she asked, naked in front of him.

"I don't know if this is the right thing to do."

She stroked her hand down his chest. "Does it feel right?"

Oh God yes, he thought.

The two connected in a way that felt familiar and easy – and they relied on roles that had long past. They seemingly lived in the moment and shared comfort in another body …. Beck was right about one thing: chances were good he wouldn't come back.

T'Pol paused and gave a near-frown. She didn't like knowing the information that lay buried in Jonathan's mind, nor did she like that she felt compelled to review it.

"This scene bothers you?" Sovok asked.

It would be a lie to deny it. "Yes."

"You know it happened in his past."

"Yes."

After watching her uncle hesitate, waiting for more information, T'Pol riased both brows in an epiphany.

"Perhaps what troubles me is – I met this woman."

His eyebrow poked up. "I see. You have an emotion about this?"

"Yes. Jealousy."

After their union, she snuggled into his arms and he held her staring out the window at the San Francisco city view – the thousands of lights illuminating the sky.

"I've missed you," she whispered.

He smirked and kissed the top of her blonde head. "Me, too."

"So, have you …?" she asked.

"What?"

"You know …."

He squinted his eyes and stared at her. Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows. "You mean …?"

"Yeah."

Biting the side of his cheek, he stared back out the window. "Not since we were together last."

She pushed back from him. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Not a lot of opportunities, Beck."

"Was it just about opportunity?"

His cheek sloped, but he shook his head.

"You found someone?" she asked.

"Not really," he explained. When she seemed to stew on the information, he prompted her. "Let it go."

"Who's the pretty communications officer I met – the one you were trying to recruit?"

"Ensign Sato!"

"Sato? Yeah, that one."

He shook his head as a laugh made it to his throat. "No. No way."

"Why not?"

"Well, first she's an ensign and I mean … come on. She's … a kid."

Her mouth opened as if to grill him when he fidgeted.

"This feels weird, can we just drop it?" he asked.

"What feels weird?"

"This! I'm in bed with you, I don't want to talk about other women."

"It's not like we're in love."

It never was, sadly. "Shhh," he whispered into her hair.

Rebecca became quiet, settling against his chest. Suddenly, she began talking again. "You wrote me about this 'irritating Vulcan know-it-all.' What about her?"

He sighed. "Leave it alone."

She pouted briefly, but nuzzled her cheek against his skin and he felt his hands in her hair.

"It's her, huh? I've never known someone to get under your skin like that."

He sighed. "Drop it."

The two became quiet for a few moments, and as Archer stroked Rebecca's hair, he thought about T'Pol. He wondered whether her hair would be coarse or fine – the strands gliding through his fingers with ease. He wondered what her hair smelled like and what it would feel like pursed against his lips. For a moment, just a second, he imagined that she wouldn't mind nuzzling against his skin either – her green tinted cheek meshed flush against his golden skin. With guilt he stopped the flights of fancy.

"I met someone," she said.

Jon swallowed. "You did?"

"Three months ago, right after the attack … actually I didn't meet him …. He was a friend."

"Don't tell me, another attorney?"

She smiled. "Maybe. At least he's interested in politics."

"It's serious?"

Rebecca frowned. "Don't know."

His finger lazily stroked her cheek. "Then why are here you with me, Beck?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

He frowned a little back, and then very sincerely – more so than she'd been all night – she stared into his eyes.

"I know you're not coming back, Jon."

That was his reasoning, too. His fingers curled around her chin and he swallowed deeply.

"Admit it. I've known you for almost what … ten …."

"Eleven," he corrected.

"Exactly. I know that you're scared too."

His lips found hers.

T'Pol stared at her uncle.

"Why did you show me this?" she asked.

"It is in your mind." Sovok raised his brows.

"I don't understand."

"I believed it to be apparent."

She scooted on the pillow and rested her hands on her knees, thinking. "I'm sure it's to show me that I am not the only one who was involved with someone else."

The man stood, hung his head to his chest and clasped his hands behind his back. As he strolled back to the house, T'Pol hustled behind him.

"That was not the point of the exercise?"

He turned to her and stared into her eyes, silent.

"It was to show me that he has loved me for some time?" she asked.

The Vulcan didn't blink.

"I already knew that," she said.

Sovok continued to stare and T'Pol traced her thoughts back to the meld. The ability to hear her own voice as well as Jonathan's was interesting … and confusing.

Archer left Rebecca's apartment, straightening his collar as she kissed him goodbye at the door. He hated to say anything more, so as he walked away he told her something he wasn't sure was true.

"I'll talk with you soon."

Producing a sad smile she agreed and he felt her watch him walk away. Stepping onto the elevator, he looked back once as she waved, a little teary eyed, and he waved back with more joviality – at least he pretended as much. After the doors closed he sank against the elevator.

Everything is so wrong, he thought.

The attack on Earth was iniquitous. Going into the Expanse was wrong. Sleeping with Rebecca, especially knowing neither were really in love, was messed up, but at least he could accept that they'd shared some physical intimacy because they were friends. Leaving her teary eyed, pretending to smile was just as phony.

Slouching, he stared at the wall. He gave his crew a few days to settle their affairs back home, but arranged that he would be back on Enterprise before the others got back. It was his role as captain to begin work, and in order to find a species in a remote and dangerous part of space, he'd need to head back early.

Maybe his crewmen would fare better – have more loved ones to say goodbye too, even.

After the shuttle made its way to Enterprise, he headed back to his room. Just as he started unpacking and feeling the strangle of command take a hold of him, his chime rang.

At the door was T'Pol, dressed in her usual attire and sparking a raised eyebrow.

"Your visit went well?"

No, he thought. "Fine."

Waiting, she nodded.

"Your trip?" he asked. "Soval seemed eager to talk with you."

With a slight pause, she looked down at the floor. "I've been reassigned."

"What?"

She could hear him drop a few things. It caused her to look down at the shaving kit lying on the floor and then into his eyes.

"I've been recalled to Vulcan."

He was silent – mouth agape.

"The ambassador believes this mission is foolhardy and dangerous."

"I see."

The two stared at each other until T'Pol decided to break the quiet with an update.

"I also wanted to indicate that the report on --"

"T'Pol," he said.

"Yes?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Is there something the matter?" she asked.

"Yeah, you're leaving." After waiting for a few minutes, he tapped the top of his duffle bag and stared at the contents. "I mean, I think we should talk about it."

"What is there to say?" she asked.

Throwing a shirt from his duffle bag on the bed, he sighed. "Nothing I guess."

He kept his head and his eyes trained on the bed. Finally, heaving his chest, he put a hand on his hip.

Unsure of what to do, she tried to resume her report. "As per Commander Tucker's specifications the …."

"I just can't believe you're leaving."

"I hardly have a recourse."

Gazing up for the first time in minutes, she noted his eyes never looked greener. "I'm not disagreeing with them, T'Pol."

Silence.

Closing in, he loomed over her small frame and took a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but … I think I agree with Soval on this one."

Her eyebrow poked up.

He gave a mild smile.

Furrowing her brow suddenly, she crossed her arms and explained in painstaking detail the conversation she had with the ambassador, including the cold and calculated logic and reason behind his decision.

Jonathan nodded throughout the discussion, agreeing with every point.

"You want me to disagree with you?" T'Pol asked. In a way, when she was delivering the information to the captain, she'd wanted him to oppose her.

Her uncle was almost seemed startled, but managed to regain his composure quickly. Shaking his head, he stared at the tiles. "T'Pol –"

"You wonder why I chose to remain on Enterprise?" She was peppering him with questions.

Sovok didn't chime in, but perched forward only slightly. "Why did you?"

"It seemed the logical thing to do."

After delivering what she deemed were debatable items to his attention, she finally gave up on the idea he would quibble with her.

"I can always disagree," she volunteered.

"I don't think you should."

A question was left in her eyes, and he answered it.

"I think it's for the best."

Staring at him, she found him suddenly looking at his shoes.

"It'll be a difficult mission."

Before she could say anything more, he spoke again. "I mean to say …." He sighed and tried to speak his peace again. "I just think it's better you go back to Vulcan."

The two stood and watched each other and he finally hurled an uneasy smile in her direction. "It's not … it's not that I won't miss you. Because I will. In fact … I'll miss you a lot."

They gazed at each other, and something bubbled in her stomach. The emotion was unfamiliar, but evident. As she tried to ponder the feeling, Archer spoke again.

"Listen, maybe the two of us can just spend a little time together before you leave."

She didn't respond.

"We practically have the whole ship to ourselves anyway … and I need to go over a few things with you before the crew returns … before you leave."

She quipped an eyebrow.

Producing a lop-sided smile, he stared at her through half-lidded eyes. "I just thought it might be nice … before you go."

Blinking slowly, before realizing it, she agreed to whatever he had planned. Somehow as he bent his head to his chest and remarked on dinners with some of her favorite human (and yet vegetarian) cuisine, she got the distinct feeling that he was pleased … maybe more than he'd indicated.

"I've stayed aboard Enterprise because I've cared about my shipmates and their planet. I did not want to see Earth destroyed."

Sovol looked into her eyes. "Is that the only reason?"

T'Pol's gaze drifted down. "No."

"Commander Tucker?"

Dinner with the captain, alone, was strange. During the candlelit meal, he talked about quarters for the MACOs – a group of soldiers from another branch of the military – in a soft voice. And, his glances were long and lingering with something like a light shining in his eyes. To contradict what gleamed in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down almost imperceptibly.

When the arrangements for the crew's living spaces were decided on, he began to bring up refurbishments while poking at his uneaten meal.

"Captain?" she said, interrupting.

"Yes?"

"You haven't eaten."

"Not hungry I guess." He sipped his tea.

There was one question he hadn't answered that seemed critical to his success … or failure.

"Do you have a plan for what to do once you enter the Delphic Expanse?"

He bowed his head and his fork poked at his food. "Not as such."

Her eyebrows raised.

Smiling, he stopped her. "I'm formulating it, T'Pol."

The discussion about refurbishments continued and the meal came to an end. As she walked out of the door to head back to her room, she'd realized the primary emotion she felt was: aggravation. The detailed information about their mission, the additional weapons, the soldiers … all the data about the Expanse bothered her.

Strolling along to Sickbay, she decided to talk with Dr. Phlox.

"Aggravation?" Sovok asked.

"Yes."

"He hadn't come up with a plan?" Sovok asked.

"I cannot remember the exact circumstances of the feeling."

"You talked with Dr. Phlox?"

"Yes," she said.

"You agreed to go into the Expanse because of what the doctor indicated?" Sovok asked.

Reaching into the recesses of her mind, she shook her head almost involuntarily. "No."

The captain was somber. Tucker was scheduled to arrive the next day, and the captain already seemed concerned about the young man, starting the conversation with a few stories about him. When he'd finished, he murmured a little about Elizabeth – mostly things she'd already known.

"His sister was 24." He paused staring at his food. "What a shame."

She agreed with a simple head nod. Sipping her tea she, felt the room grow eerily silent. At the moment she was about to engage in what she deemed was "small talk," the man next to her spoke almost in a whisper.

"There are a lot of people depending on me, counting on me."

She looked into his eyes. "Yes."

Sighing, he drank his coffee.

"You will not disappoint them," she said. It was an unspoken fear, but she knew it hung in his mind.

He threw her a warm smile, staring into her eyes.

"All of the crew should return tomorrow," she said.

"I hope they had a chance to say goodbye," he said.

She knew there was more finality to his statement than he let on.

"Did you?" she asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Did you have a chance to say goodbye?"

"Where?"

An eyebrow raised. "On Earth. In San Francisco – you were there two days."

"Oh. Yes."

A wholly inappropriate question left her lips. "Family?"

He gave a small grunt. "No, friend."

She pressed the mug to her lips again.

"I don't really have any family," he said.

She'd known about his father, but that was the breadth of her knowledge about his relatives.

"You dislike goodbyes," she said. It wasn't clear why she named his hatred for it.

"I'm glad we're saying goodbye," he said.

Narrowing her eyes, she agreed. "Yes."

"Why did you stay aboard Enterprise?" Sovok asked.

T'Pol remembered everyone coming back aboard – once that happened the dinners and private conversations came to an end. The man had jumped into action and began spending more time in the newly built command center, trying to formulate a plan. She'd spoken with Dr. Phlox again, but it wasn't needed, she'd already come a decision: she'd resign her post.

"I didn't want them to leave without me."

"Why?"

T'Pol's lips twitched. "I believed they had a better chance of survival if I helped them."

"Them?"

"Yes, the crew."

The niece and uncle watched each other.

After her discussion with Dr. Phlox she was more than half-tempted to stop by Archer's cabin and tell him that she'd planned on resigning her post. She knew he'd been avoiding her for a couple of days. In fact, he'd made every attempt to avoid reviewing the science officer candidates or any discussion with her.

Every time he passed her station, her mouth hung open waiting to break the news to him. And every pass he made by her area, he flatly ignored her. Finally three hours before he was scheduled to see her, he dodged into his Ready Room and remained there with orders not to be disturbed.

She admitted the truth – something only now becoming clear. "I wanted Captain Archer to be successful."

"Oh?" Sovok asked.

That statement wasn't entirely correct, and the idea lighted in her brain like a fire.

"No … I wanted him to return home. I thought he had a better likelihood if I stayed."

Sovok nodded. "Yes."

The woman blinked understanding the impact of her statement.

"Then why Commander Tucker?" Sovok asked.

After providing neuropressure to the young man, she watched his bare chest rise and fall. When he looked at her with his deep blue eyes, and grinned a bright, white smile, something in her stomach felt warm.

"Neuropressure went successfully tonight I take it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think I'll sleep like a baby."

"You'll come over tomorrow night then, I take it?"

Stretching out on her bed, he nodded. "Don't need to convince me."

While she was pondering this, the man in her bed leaned up and put on hand behind his head.

"You ever feel lonely?"

The question took her by surprise. Fixing her robe to her more securely, she watched him as he explained more.

"I mean, you haven't seen your own kind in a while."

That wasn't exactly true; she'd seen her own race – they'd turned into insane lunatics whose primary goal was to destroy her and her fellow crewman. It was a vision that sometimes awakened her and caused her head to throb.

T'Pol licked her lips. "I sometimes feel … alone. Yes."

His eyes became half-lidded. "I think everyone does."

"You do?" she asked.

He sighed. "With Lizzie gone? Yeah, sometimes. I used to hear from her about once a week. I kinda miss her letters."

She understood that to be the case, and simply nodded. Filling in more information, he gazed at her. "I think I've been feeling lonely in other ways."

An eyebrow poked up at the statement. "I think the captain has also become aloof."

"Yeah," Trip said, sitting up. "I tried to talk to him, but … well, let's just say he's focused."

"The mission is important."

"You don't have to tell me," he said. Reaching for his shirt, he wiggled into it.

"It concerns me he seems willing to sacrifice so much for it."

"The mission? Yeah." With hesitation, he added, "You're talking about that Ossarian ?"

She didn't nod, but her eyes remained on him as if she agreed.

Trip put a hand through his hair. "He's changed."

"Commander –"

He laughed. "You've been putting your hands on me for a few months. I think you can call me by my first name."

Her features eased and she agreed. "Should I call you Charles or Trip?"

Smiling, he giggled. "Only my mamma calls me Charles, and usually when I'm in trouble. Trip's just fine."

"Very well."

As he slipped into his shoes and walked to the door, he turned around. "Ya know, I never thought we'd get to be friends. But, I look forward to spending nights with you these days."

The door opened and shut behind him. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she shivered at the emotions that rushed through her: doubt, worry, arousal, grief, joy – so many. They were accessible though touch; they were his emotions and hers whirled together. And at times it was impossible to tell whose thoughts and feelings belonged to whom.

Breathing deeply, she understood why feelings were sometimes welcomed – they helped one forget about pressing matters. They opened up possibilities.

Riffling through her drawer -- past undergarments, she produced a tiny rock of trellium. She'd already begun the process of refinement for it – the experiment had been successful. Tonight, she'd try shooting it into her bloodstream to determine the impact. Sometimes the rush of the drug made her feel sensual – as if electricity were shooting through her body and curling her toes. Times like these she could understand the need to have a man's hands rush over her body; she understood the barbariac need the humans sometimes had. Times like these she could use the comfort of a casual relationship – one she'd seen other human women, those scared with the idea of their own eminent death, have.

It's not the Vulcan way, she thought.

And yet, she was not on Vulcan, and she may never return to her birthplace. On unsteady feet, she scuttled down corridors eager to experience the unbridled emotions. As she rounded the corner to the lab, she nearly bumped into someone. Gazing up, she noticed the large figure before her: the captain. Carefully, she placed the rock into her belt.

"You're up late," he said. A cup of coffee, something he was always armed with these days, hung on his fingers. His eyes were stern and surrounded by large purple circles.

"Yes. As are you."

Taking the mug to his lips, he mumbled into his drink. "Heading to the lab or neuropressure?"

Her breath stuttered. "To the lab."

Scrunching his brows together, he nodded. "Don't stay up too late. You'll need your rest. Tomorrow, we're …."

The rest of the discussion was lost on her. Staring into his eyes, she sometimes remembered snippets of their conversation aboard the Selaya and the words he'd spoken afterward. She sometimes found her mind chanting the words and sentiments he'd conveyed to her in Sickbay.

"Captain --?"

Stopping in mid-sentence, he stared at her. "What?"

There were many things to be said – things like how she'd noticed he was irritable all the time, how he'd lost weight, how he'd neglected to show up for the reinstated movie night or how he didn't show up for dinner any more. Instead, she stared down at her feet.

"I will get to sleep soon."

He hadn't invited discussion in the past; it didn't make sense to bring it up now. Without nodding, he turned on his heel and marched down the hall.

When he was gone, T'Pol noted how silent the ship was, particularly at this time of night. The engines these days, thanks to upgrades, barely purred. There wasn't the chaotic movement of humans, jabbering and laughing in the corridors. Even the occasional whisper of feelings that sometimes reached her had grown quiet.

She made it eventually to the lab, processed the trellium and shot it into her neck.

Sliding down to the floor, she said a few words.

"Perhaps I'll attempt sexual relations with Commander … Trip."

To her keen logic, it made sense. He was handsome, a friend and by the simple touches she gave, she could feel that he wanted her. Experimenting with him would not be undesired by either party. She could share her bed with him, his emotions with him and feel the warmth of another body to comfort her.

Without realizing it, she began to scheme.

TBC