A/N: A huge thank you to Telaka. I'm so glad you like this fic. I consider Goodnight Enterprise to be one of those pieces of fiction that holds so true to the A/T'P dynamic that it's kind of a primer. It has romance, without having much of any at all. And it's obvious you like all the characters. Anyway, I appreciate your review. Indeed, this fiction is T'Pol's road back to recovery, as much as it is about her ordeal. And hopefully, it's also about Archer falling for her, and being her rock, more than he already has, but not admitting it to himself. It's also about Trip being a friend.

Red.

T'Pol stared up at her captor – his crimson gleaming eyes trained on her. She could barely make out his shape; he was masked in shadow as he strayed from the torchlight in the cave. Although she tried to squash her horror, she realized it was there nonetheless – no matter how she chanted the ancient words of Surak and his disciples.

Logic is the beginning. The foundation. It is the creation.

Ral leaned over her, his mouth twisted like a gnarled tree that guards a cemetery – a haven for carrion birds. She could smell his breath, even over the musty aroma that filled the air; the odor of stale meat clung to his palette.

"Maybe I'll take you first," he said. He dropped closer to her, his breath on her lips.

Attempting to drown out the laughter in the background, she turned her head and closed her eyes.

Where there is emotion, there is chaos.

He drew closer still, caressing her cheek.

"Please don't," she whispered.

Strands of her hair brushed through his fingertips and fell limply around her head. His mouth found her ear and he nibbled on it as if he were a lover.

"If you keep your eyes on me, I won't let the others harm you," he whispered.

She shivered.

"All you have to do is keep your eyes on me."

Flinging her eyes open, she sat up and panted for air – struggled for it. Sweat beaded at her forehead, under her arms, around her chest and at her back. As she gulped, a hand worried over hers.

"Are you all right?" a voice asked.

Swallowing a scream, she retreated from the touch. Darting her eyes left and right, she looked for an escape route.

Maybe he dragged me here.

Another large, hairy hand reached out for her bare shoulder.

"T'Pol?"

"Don't touch me," she said, snapping.

Everything was wrong. The room wasn't darkened – it was bright, teaming with lights. Instead of the dank odor of the cave, she smelled a hint of lemon, as if she were in a place that was sterile and clean. And rather than see a pair of red, beady eyes leering at her, she saw worry in two large green ones.

I'm in Sickbay.

A frown formed on Archer's face, and his hands retreated from hers – obeying her command.

"Okay," Archer said.

As she stared down at the sheets, avoiding his gaze as she tried to compose herself, she noticed the captain out of the corner of her eye. A book lay in his lap face down; it was one she knew he'd already read a year before. He looked a little haggard, stumble covered his chin and cheeks, as if he'd forgotten to shave, and dark circles hung under his eyes. His uniform was wrinkled, as if he hadn't given it the same care he usually did.

"I … apologize," she said. The words were said so quietly, she wasn't sure he heard.

"You don't need to," he said. His eyes shone with concern and worse … recognition.

Perhaps he knows.

It made her shift and glance away.

Archer's voice was hushed. "Listen, Phlox said it'd take a while to adjust and –"

No. Interrupting, she asked, "How long have I been asleep?"

"I don't know. I got here a few hours ago."

"Where is the doctor?" she asked.

"I told him to take a break and have something to eat." He then leaned forward as if he'd been remiss. "Do you need him?"

"No." After a brief pause, she straightened. "Enterprise's status?"

The frown on his face widened. "I don't think it's really important."

"I'm your first officer. Regulations state that you are required to keep me up-to-date on all ship's business."

"Just lie back and relax, T'Pol."

She asked again, trying to hide how desperate she felt to talk about the mundane and routine … to talk about anything, but what woke her.

"I would like to know the status of the ship. Please, Captain."

A furrow ran between his eyebrows and he sighed, giving into her request … maybe because he knew exactly how she felt. Somehow, he usually did, even if no words passed between them to clarify.

"We provided medicine to the Tellarites. Their epidemic seems to be over."

That information sounded familiar to her, but she waited to hear their current situation. He hesitated, almost afraid to deliver the news to her.

"We're on course to Vulcan," he said.

"Why?"

"You'd get better care there."

Lying back in her bed, she fiddled with the covers. "I trust my care here."

"I know you do, but they're better equipped to treat you. Dr. Phlox recommended --"

"I don't need their help."

"T'Pol--"

"I do not need their help." Her head slowly turned to him and she attempted to mask the disgust in her voice.

"If this has something to do with your family –"

"No."

"You'd recover there more quickly. Don't you think it's only … logical … you go to Vulcan?" He smiled, and she noted the gesture was to reassure her.

Staring straight ahead, she spoke again. "I have already stated my opinion on the matter."

"I don't know a lot about being Vulcan, but I know –"

She cut him off, her eyes narrowing. "You know nothing about being Vulcan."

"All right." He sighed again and then placed his elbows on his knees to get as close as he could without coming into contact with her. "I do know Vulcans sometimes need help suppressing emotions and thoughts. I just … well … I thought you might want guidance from a priest or –"

"No."

"They may be able to help reconstruct your …." His voice hung in midair, sucked in as if he loathed saying the next words.

"My ears?" She waited to continue until he nodded. "What was done to me is because of my race."

"You had nothing to do with it."

"The Salans were correct about one thing: my people should've helped them long before they did. My government's hesitation led to the brutal murders of millions of their people."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

She started at him, her eyes hot with anger. "Maybe not me, but my people did. They traded with a race that was intent on destroying the Salans."

"That doesn't give the Salans the right to --" He said the name of the race as if he swallowed ipecac.

"I want nothing to do with the Vulcans."

Archer was about to object.

"And clearly the Vulcans want nothing to do with me."

"You don't know that," he said lamely, as if he didn't believe it either.

"It seems just as well that my appearance will no longer betray me or embarrass them."

"T'Pol –"

"Thank you for your offer, Captain."

Noting he was about to speak again, most likely to debate her conclusion, she decided to resort to something the humans were always good at: diversion.

"Dr. Phlox believes I can return to duty in two days."

He shot his eyebrows up in surprise. "I think he said you could leave Sickbay in two days, not return to work."

"I took it to mean the same thing. I'm … eager … to review the scans I took on the planet … at least, the few scans I did take."

"That's not a good idea."

Her mouth turned down ever so slightly, and the image seemed to trouble him. Shifting in his chair, he shook his head.

"Look, it's not that I don't want you on the Bridge. I'm worried about you. Yesterday, we weren't sure you were going to make it."

When she parted her lips, he spoke again.

"I want you to get well."

"Vulcans have faster recuperative powers than humans. If I enter a light healing trance, I should be able to –"

She noticed his eyes looking over her broken limbs.

"How do you intend to get around?" he asked.

"I plan to stay mostly in my cabin, reviewing data."

"With broken wrists?"

"They're mending quickly. In two days I should regain the use of them."

"I don't want you to push yourself. You've been through a lot."

"I believe I'm fit to return to duty."

Ducking his head, he asked a question with a hushed voice. "What about what just happened?"

Her eyes queried him, even though she understood the implication: she rebelled from his touch. Staring at the ceiling she came up with an answer. Although it wasn't exactly a lie, it certainly wasn't the truth. But, she reasoned with herself it was the best excuse she could provide.

"As you know, Vulcans don't like to be touched."

"You've never had a problem before." He corrected himself. "You haven't had a problem with it for some time."

She flattened her lips. "Touching is always … unnerving. Because of my injuries, perhaps it is more so."

"Because of your injuries?"

Staring at him, stoic, she affirmed her statement. "Yes, my lacerations and contusions."

"I see." It was clear by his squinted eyes, he didn't buy it.

The two looked at each other for a few moments – him scanning her as if to find the chink in her armor. Instead, of speaking, he edged forward.

"I may not know Vulcans, but I know you. I think you need some time to digest everything … to meditate and … to deal with everything that happened. And I don't want you to push yourself."

As she opened her mouth to argue the point, the door slid open and Commander Tucker walked in. The engineer, looking also a little worse for wear, stepped across the threshold. On seeing them, particularly T'Pol, a smile spread across his entire face, reaching his eyes.

"You're awake!" he said to T'Pol.

T'Pol's eyebrow raised and she sat up. "Yes."

"Phlox said I should chase you outta here. Besides, probably wouldn't hurt for you to get some sleep. You have duty in a few hours."

"I'm okay."

"You've been here for eight hours," Trip said.

Eyes falling quickly to the ground, Archer stammered a few words. "I had no idea I was here that long."

Confusion smacked on Trip's face. "You came here right after you left your shift …."

Archer removed the book from his lap, snapped it closed and then said a few words using a timbre in his voice he typically saved for command. She noted immediately it wasn't the same hushed tones he typically reserved for her when they were alone.

"Before I change our course, I'd like you to think about it, T'Pol. I don't want you to squander this opportunity."

"You already have my answer."

The captain nodded, although something in his demeanor made her think they'd stay on course. He lifted his hand, as if to squeeze hers, and then he put it back down at his side without touching her.

"I'll visit again later," he said. "Get some rest." Turning on his heel, he walked out the door.

"This means you're not going to Vulcan?" Trip asked.

The engineer didn't skip a beat, and for a moment T'Pol wondered if they were, as humans would say, "ganging up against her."

"No, I'm not going to Vulcan."

He folded himself in half and took the spot next to her, the one that the captain had been occupying.

"Well, he's right ya know," he said.

As she was about to disagree, he shook his head. "But, I guess it's up to you."

That was something she wanted to hear. "Yes … it is my decision."

"Your father's opinions of you don't necessarily reflect your entire race's thoughts about ya."

"They do. Besides, didn't you and the captain indicate you are my family now?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I suppose we did say that."

Almost giving into a sigh, she noticed the commander didn't seem relieved. Just as she was about to inquire further, he exhaled deeply.

"I've been wanting to say something for a while. I've been wanting to say: I'm sorry."

"There's no reason to be," she said.

Rubbing his hands, one over the other, he hunched forward.

"That ain't exactly true. If I hadn't wanted to see the ship … see the blueprints, you never …. I should've followed the captains orders."

"It's in the past."

Trip's voice was hoarse. "It only happened a week ago."

She corrected him. "A week is still considered the past if I'm not mistaken."

Watching him get worked up, to near the point of tears, she spoke to him – lowering some of her veneer.

"Trip, it wasn't your fault. You attempted to convince me we should stay together. As I recall I was the one who insisted on finishing my scans separately."

"Doc said you were mumbling in your sleep about reprimanding me."

Knitting her brow, she tried to remember, but couldn't.

Trip said, "I was … I was concerned you wouldn't be okay, and then when you were … I was afraid you'd hold a grudge against me."

The way he said it made her believe he wasn't just worried about himself, but was genuinely concerned about their friendship and a close friend.

Her expression softened. "I cannot hold grudges."

With a sad smile, he tried to playfully engage her in banter to prove everything was okay.

"Can't stay mad at me, can ya?"

The pupil of her eye contracted.

Ral leaned against her, stroking her ear. When he got to the very tip, he fondled it – rubbing it between his fingers.

'Fingers?' she asked herself. 'No … something like a fingernail.'

The edge was sharp and pointed, and he sliced it against her ear hoping to torture her slowly. When tears streamed down her face, he smiled at the pain – a reward for her brandishing emotion. Leisurely, he repeated the motion and she continued to cry. Everything he did to her was slow and methodical, as if he'd been savoring every stroke, and every response she presented was in hopes the pain would come to an end.

"That's your ear," he said.

She saw bits of flesh immersed in her own blood. Although it sickened her stomach, her mind forbade her from vomiting.

Before long, she felt something wet, like water cascade around her, pooling under her hair and flowing down her neck to stain her clothing. In her weakness and terror, she'd bargained and pleaded for her life to come to a miserable end.

To answer her requests, he provided her a kiss. His lips pressed down on hers and his tongue violated her mouth, scooping against hers as if it belonged to him. Instead of biting the muscle, ripping it from his mouth, she accepted it while staring into his eyes.

"We'll let you bleed for a while longer. If that doesn't kill you, would you like us to end it?"

"Yes," she begged.

And yet … she continued to stare him in the eyes until her body gave out from exhaustion and shock. She had to keep her eyes trained on him, or else her fate would worsen.

Thrown from her thoughts, she saw Tucker move forward.

"T'Pol?"

Her attention whipped to him. "Yes?"

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"You were just sitting there staring into space. You said something about eyes watching you."

Her eyebrow raised. "I'm just fatigued. Perhaps … you could visit again tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Sure." Getting up slowly, he gave her an unsure gaze. "See ya later."

Looking over his shoulder once more, questioningly, he left. When the doors shut, she swallowed deeply.

Logic is the beginning. The foundation. It is the creation.

As she finished chanting it in her mind, she realized the inevitable truth. Logic wouldn't come that horrible day, and wouldn't come today either. The only thing that sprang to her mind was a pair of red eyes trained on her.