A/N: I apologize for the number of typos in the last one. I was going on vacation for over a week and wanted to leave something for those who've been waiting … and patiently.

Thanks, Telaka, for your very sweet words. It's been a real treat to write this story, and it's been fun to write it using Goodnight Enterprise as its resource … mostly because I get to re-read it (to ensure the action matches up to your words). If readers haven't read that one, you should. It's a real treat, one of my favorites.

And, thanks to Goshabyn. It's so much fun reading your story. Telaka, as Neph said, did indeed inspire many other fics. I'm thrilled you began this and I'm eagerly awaiting the rest of it. Soo … stop reading this and get busy. ;-) And for those who haven't read The Ambassador, read it.

Phlox was not a happy man; it was in his nature to be jolly, and yet right now, he was anything but full of mirth. As he stared into the microscope, hoping to concentrate on a small virus that Crewman Lee had developed, frustration tingled every nerve on his body.

His irritation had nothing to do with the virus, which humans dismissed – calling it "the flu;" it had everything to do with the patient who Crewman Cutler was retrieving. T'Pol.

Her progress had slowed significantly and her mood, which was important to him even if she denied such a thing, was sullen. Even though she had plenty of time to herself, something she demanded she had, her spirits were low. Frazzled, Phlox grimaced: no one watched over T'Pol these days (despite wanting to), not Captain Archer, not Tucker or even himself. In fact, he'd limited his own visits to strictly two hours per day … just enough time for physical therapy and some blood work. And to appease her, he even broke up his time into two one-hour intervals.

She said she'd been meditating several times per day. The Vulcan also insisted she'd been engaging in a light trances for healing, something her species was prone to do.

And, she'd begun a light workload in her room … although her interaction with the crew was at a minimum.

To the average Vulcan, these factors – being alone, meditating and engaging in work - would ensure the road to recovery. Yet T'Pol was hardly making great strides or any significant progress at all.

That annoyed him.

We've done things her way, now it's time to do things my way, he thought churlishly.

Phlox knew the problem: she'd avoided her issues, instead of confronting them head on. For example, apparently she'd confided in the quietest of voices to Captain Archer that he threatened her. Phlox decided instead of talking with her about it, he'd wait for her to come to the realization herself that wasn't normal. He expected she'd contact him within a week or so.

It had now been nearly four. That was far too long.

Phlox understood it wasn't just Archer – even if it was primarily him (which he believed it was). He too could see her hesitant, wide-eyes gaze up at him with fear. Commander Tucker reported the same problem.

He'd held off from inquiring this morning, believing she was on the verge of telling him how she'd felt as her mouth trembled to speak. But at the end of an hour, she didn't. And because he was her friend and cared about her, he let her get away with it.

Not this time.

Of course he still cared, but this time, he'd be a physician first. Her recovery depended on it.

Her recovery has to be my priority, even if it means seeing her hurt.

It was why he was wound up now. It was why he asked Captain Archer and Trip to meet him later.

"Doctor?" Cutler said.

He turned to his assistant and gave a small nod. He was ready.

"Yes?" he said.

"I brought T'Pol here."

Standing, he pushed his stool away from the microscope he'd been leaning over, and headed to the main facility in Sickbay with Liz Cutler in tow behind him.

"T'Pol," he said.

"Hello," said T'Pol.

The Vulcan's eyes scanned him and then Cutler and she leaned back on the biobed as he examined her – taking her temperature, blood and scanning her. The readings didn't surprise him; they were exactly what he expected. Blood pressure, heartbeat, reflexes … all normal. With a nod, he indicated she could sit up … something she still had difficulty doing by herself. Cutler reached around and helped her up in spite of Phlox's frown and furrowed brow. Just as Cutler was about to help T'Pol off the biobed to her wheelchair, the doctor shook his head.

Phlox knew Cutler cared too much for T'Pol as a friend as well. The Denobulan straightened and continued with his resolve.

"I'm not finished," Phlox said.

"Something wrong?" T'Pol asked.

"No. Your readings are normal."

The Vulcan waited.

"I wanted to talk with you," he said.

"Yes?"

"It's impossible to treat my patients unless they're honest with me."

It didn't get a reaction, so he continued.

"Completely honest. So, I'll be honest with you. I'm not seeing the kind of progress I expected or would like to see."

Cutler's eyes went to T'Pol and he could feel her about to make an excuse.

"T'Pol, I've allowed you to have a few weeks to yourself without anyone hovering over you, as you requested," he said.

"I need more time. My healing trance--"

"A Vulcan in a healing trance would've been able to recover much more quickly. You should have minimal use of your limbs."

The remark got a raised eyebrow.

"I think there are other reasons."

She went silent.

"Crewman Cutler, do you mind giving us a little privacy?"

Her brown eyes shot to the woman on the biobed with a little remorse.

"Just out into the hall," he said.

T'Pol shifted her weight.

"She can keep an eye from us out there," he said.

"Okay, Phlox," Liz said.

The woman looked over her shoulder and then slipped outside. Phlox glanced at the monitor, stationed above T'Pol's head; though the sound hadn't been engaged, he noticed the moment Liz left the vicinity that the Vulcan's heartbeat quickened.

"Captain Archer came to me several weeks ago," he said.

She didn't respond.

"He said that you were afraid of him. Threatened by him."

She dropped her head against her chest. "I thought perhaps he might say something to you."

"It's not just him, is it?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, he asked again. "Is it all men?"

"Not all men. I feel … fear … when with particular ones."

"Captain Archer, myself and Commander Tucker?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her eyes flew to the glass door.

Phlox said, "I asked her to leave because I believed you wanted to keep this conversation private. She can see us there, but if you'd feel uncomfortable, I can ask her to come back in."

T'Pol took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "No. I … know my fear is irrational."

"Most fears are," he said, agreeing.

"Yes," she whispered.

After a brief period of quiet, he pressed ahead. "Why especially the three of us?"

"I … believe … I associate you three with what happened to me."

"How?"

Squirming in her seat, she closed her eyes.

"Whatever you say won't upset me," he said.

"Sometimes around you I feel … weak. I'm reminded of how … of how feeble I am."

"I think it's natural to feel this way. As your doctor, I see you at your most vulnerable," he said. "I'm curious why you fear those feelings."

Slowly opening her eyes, she told him. "I'm concerned that I'll never recover."

"Do you think that's the case?"

"I have … noticed … that my progress has been slow."

"Conversations like this, I believe, will help."

"I'm not so certain."

"Why is that?"

"Because this feeling is constant."

"You've been my patient before and you haven't felt feeble, have you?"

"No."

"Then what's different this time?" he asked.

She was quiet.

"Was it triggered by something?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"When did you start feeling this way?"

"I don't know. Perhaps when I awoke."

"When you saw Captain Archer and me?"

For a second, her lips quivered – as if a cloudy memory cleared.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

"You saw something."

"I don't know."

"Do you remember being taken here?" he asked.

Her lips twitched.

"Do you remember being taken here?" he asked again.

His eyes scanned the monitor above her; her heartbeat quickened and her blood pressure was beginning to skyrocket. Watching the stress through her vital signs made him want to pull the plug on the whole discussion, when he heard a response.

"Yes. Yes, I remember. You read off a list of my ailments."

"What do you remember?"

"I heard …." She stopped, her eyes beginning to tear up. "I don't believe I understood what happened to me until I heard it from your lips."

"You mean--?"

"Yes."

"You didn't recall what happened before then?" A frown took over his entire face.

"No," she said.

Ducking his head into his hand, he whispered to her. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. I hadn't realized."

"It's … strange … that on the planet I was unsure what he'd done to me."

"I think it's normal," he said. "What happened to you was traumatic. Most species, even Vulcans, block the memories of painful experiences."

Her lip quivered as her eyes continued their glassy hue. "What happened to me was nothing compared to what the Salans had to endure."

"What?"

"You don't know what happened to his people."

"His?"

"Ral's."

He gathered that was the name of the attacker – it was a name she'd called in her sleep when she'd first come back aboard Enterprise. When she'd said his name, there were pleas accompanying it; it sickened him to listen.

That is a name I'll remember, Phlox thought. His eyes narrowed.

"His people were nearly exterminated and the Vulcans did nothing to help. I can understand his anger."

"That doesn't give him the right attack you."

She was silent.

"That doesn't give him the right to break your wrists, your ankles, your ribs …."

Her eyes lowered.

"It doesn't give him the right to rape you."

She turned away.

"T'Pol, there's a certain pathology to a man who does that. You understand it wasn't about you being Vulcan?"

She didn't answer.

"He wanted to do more than teach you a lesson. He wanted to demean and control you."

Quiet.

"You don't deserve that. No one does."

He heard no response.

"Look at me," Phlox said.

Her shiny eyes turned toward him.

"You're not to blame for any of this. I don't care what your race is or what happened between your people, his attack was personal. And it wasn't your fault."

She blinked slowly.

"And you'll recover. Despite Ral's treatment of you … maybe in spite of his treatment of you … you'll get better. Not because you're my patient, although I think I'm an adequate doctor, but because you're strong."

She didn't say anything.

"You don't realize -- you shouldn't be alive right now. Your strength, you determination to overcome any obstacle, kept you alive. And, it's one of the things I've always admired about you."

Her lips flattened and she titled her head. "I don't feel strong. What can I do?"

"Accept that you feel and that it's irrational. Meditate on what's bothering you."

She nodded.

"Do you feel up for talking about why you're uncomfortable around Commander Tucker and Captain Archer?"

She didn't respond, so he took a guess for what bothered her about Trip.

"I know you don't blame Commander Tucker for what happened, but maybe you still feel angry about it?"

The look in her eyes indicated he was right, but she didn't confirm or deny it.

"Maybe if you feel that way, you should talk with him. I think it would help."

She was still silent.

"All right. We'll tackle that another day."

Relief spread across her face.

"But … I'd like to have these kind of talks once per day."

He sensed she was about to object.

"As your physician, I insist on it."

Two brown eyes stared at him. "Okay."

He smiled. "Okay."

He helped her off the biobed and noted with some pride, she didn't flinch when he touched her. When he got her situated into her chair, he called Liz in by waving two fingers toward him. She came in right away.

"T'Pol, you'll also recover sooner if you keep saying to yourself that none of this is your fault."

She gave a nod, but he wasn't sure she believed it.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the usual time for physical therapy," he said.

Liz gave a warm smile to the patient and then a quick wink to Phlox, which made him grin back. As the two left Sickbay, Phlox found himself a little lighter in the step as he went back to his microscope and Crewman Lee's flu.

After Cutler left T'Pol's quarters, the Vulcan stared at the ceiling and then closed her eyes. She'd thought about why she'd had trouble with Phlox, Trip and Captain Archer before. It was a notion that she'd spent many nights and days, huddled over a candle, examining.

Deep down, she'd always known what the problem with Phlox was even if she was unable to verbalize it to him. While watching the dancing flame, she'd pinpointed her terror: hearing him say the word "rape" and discovering it had happened to her. Memories flooded back to her since then.

At the time, she'd blacked out as if her mind refused to allow her to accept the events. Now, she had no choice. She couldn't suppress those memories, at least not without the aid of a Vulcan priest – something that was quite out of the question. Wishing the incident away would be illogical. It happened.

Stroking her gnarled ear, as if to calm herself, she had to admit that talking with the doctor about why he troubled her seemed to help. Instead of shying from his touch, she actually felt comforted by him … at least a small amount of reassurance.

Deep down, she'd also known her issues with Trip. Phlox was right. Logically, she knew that Trip wasn't to blame … and she didn't want to blame him. Yet resentment nagged at her. She believed discussing it with the commander would be a mistake; he'd take the information to heart and his friendship would disappear into thin air. Pretending she didn't feel that way, and dealing with her emotions, made a certain sense.

Perhaps she wasn't giving Trip enough credit. Although young, the man had incredible empathy and compassion. Talking about it could give their friendship an added boost; she'd noticed the feelings between humans often intensified when they overcame a problem together.

Maybe Dr. Phlox is right. Perhaps I should talk with Trip.

While she had an answer for dread around Trip and Phlox, she had no explanation for Captain Archer; that was the only mystery she hadn't solved.

Recalling what happened a few weeks ago, how he'd tossed a phaser into her lap suggesting she could use it on him wasn't enough. She'd spent the entire time staring at him, eyeing him as if something would happen. A few times he'd glanced up from his book and had produced a small smile – one to soothe her; unfortunately to her, in the recesses of her brain, it had appeared menacing. Eventually he'd called Cutler in to help. Since then, she hadn't even seen him on a daily basis.

The truth was horrifying: Captain Archer reminded her of Ral.

And she had absolutely no idea why.

Using her skills as a scientist, she'd examined the issue from every possible angle: reviewing, analyzing and categorizing it.

The two had absolutely nothing in common.

Personality-wise, the two were polar opposites. Archer was noble, good and kind. He had compassion for every creature, even a small quadruped. He was a leader, someone people followed without question. The man inspired loyalty and hard work. A litany of other qualities that differentiated them, like a laundry list, existed. The differences in this arena were nearly infinite.

The two looked nothing alike; Ral was short, squatty and had red eyes, while Archer was tall, lean and had green ones. The two smelled nothing alike – Ral had the odor of decay dripping from him; Archer smelled like Porthos, Pine scented soap and salt. The two didn't even sound the same; Ral's voice had a tinny quality to it; the voice sounded like malice. Archer's voice was a bit nasal-y from time-to-time, but it was baritone – or at least in those ranges.

Why do I smell Ral when the captain is near and hear his voice when the captain speaks?

She shuddered.

The most perplexing piece to the puzzle was: she distinctly remembered wishing for his help. When her silent chants of ancient words passed down from the days of Surak - words that Vulcan children learned to stifle emotion – hadn't stopped Ral's thick fingers from stroking her hair, she'd silently hoped Archer would arrive. The man had always come in the nick of time, and she'd hoped by calling to him, even in her own mind, that he would do so again.

As T'Pol pondered the idea, the door chimed.

Wheeling herself gingerly to the door (which was about all her wrist could handle), she pressed the button on the door. As the door slid open, she saw Archer sliming.

"Captain," she said. She could feel the panic bubble in her throat.

"Just wanted to stop by. It's been a couple of days since I've seen you."

He didn't invite himself in, and she didn't offer. Instead, he leaned up against the doorframe. When she remained silent, he began to speak.

"You look at the scans I sent you?" he asked.

"Yes. Interesting. I'll have comments back to you soon."

"No rush."

She nodded. When he didn't exit, she decided to inquire further. "Is there something you needed from me?"

"Uhm, no. I just wanted to see how you were."

She raised both brows.

"What have you been up to?"

"I've reviewed the scans, met with Phlox twice a day and read a book."

"What'd you read?"

"A scholar's point of view on the time of Surak."

"What's the title?"

"The English translation is: A Scholar's Point of View on Surak's Time."

He smiled. "Aptly named. Was it good?"

She blinked. "The scholar was not as knowledgeable as he believed. And he refused to take into consideration a manuscript from one of Surak's students."

"Why?"

"Because the thoughts negated his own."

"I can see how that would be a problem." He grinned at his own joke.

Again, there was another pause, and he muddled through it.

"We miss you. It'll be nice to have you back."

"I'm … eager … to return as well."

He smiled. "Any news on when?"

"No. Dr. Phlox is displeased with my progress."

"Oh?" he said.

"However, I'd like to continue with our arrangement of working two hours a day. In fact, I might be ready to increase it."

"As long as Dr. Phlox doesn't think that'll impede your progress. I'll talk with him about it."

"I would appreciate that, sir."

He nodded. When their eyes met, his smile broadened. "Don't be afraid to let me know if you need anything."

She lied, "I won't."

He sighed. "All right. Take care."

The door closed behind him, and she briefly chastised the need for humans to make small talk. The effort didn't seem to forge relationships, instead invited awkwardness.

One thing struck the woman, as she locked the door: the captain rarely "chit-chatted."

As the door closed behind him, Archer's smile faded immediately; she was terrified of him. Still. It'd been two days since he'd seen her. And she still looked at him as if he was one of the men on Salanacon.

Hurting her was, had always been, the furthest thing from his mind.

Heading to Sickbay, he tossed a few thoughts around.

T'Pol was a vital member of the crew. It'd been seemingly forever since she'd manned her station, leaving instead Crewman Engle – fresh from Starfleet Academy, but without enough credits to enjoy the rank of officer.

The kid was nice, but didn't understand the small nuances that made the Bridge an operational breeze. The nodding of the head toward the turbolift was never understood, the furrowed brow Archer gave when he didn't believe the data and wanted it rechecked, the slight raising of the brow asking for an opinion. Robert Engle got none of those cues, and T'Pol had been on top of all of them. Always had.

In addition, Trip was a good first officer, but he was no T'Pol. Sure, he knew the crew better and was more apt at determining morale and moods, but he didn't have the grace, style and precision that the Vulcan brought to the role. When the scanners were out of alignment, she'd give him a percentage followed by a decimal. Disagreements didn't become a battle of egos, they were strategic as if the woman knew which arguments to pick. There was also a matter of experience. No matter how skilled Trip was, or had become, he hadn't been alive for sixty plus years to know the ins and outs of alien protocol. And he didn't offer knowledge of sixty years of studying planets and stars. T'Pol was a model first officer. The best in Starfleet.

Yeah, he'd missed her presence. To him, Enterprise hadn't been the same since. It wasn't just her skills as a science officer – including knowing his subtle gestures. And it wasn't just her knack for exactness.

Shuffling his feet to Sickbay's door, he watched the portal split apart to reveal his engineer and Phlox.

"Sorry I'm late," Archer said.

"No need to apologize." The Denobulan gave a lopsided smile. "I wanted to let you know that Crewmen Lee reported in sick."

"Yeah, how's he feelin'?" Trip asked.

"He has some mild stomach discomfort. Nausea. Diarrhea."

Archer winced. "Sounds like the flu."

"Glad it's not food poisoning," Trip mentioned. When both the doctor and captain looked at him, he explained his meaning. "I ate the rest of his pudding. Well, he said he didn't want it."

Archer shook his head as Phlox continued.

"The strain he has is highly contagious. It's rather inconvenient, but not painful. Each crewmember who contracts it will be off duty for fifty hours."

"Do you recommend inoculating the crew?" Archer asked.

"Wouldn't hurt for crewmen who haven't had it to build up some immunity."

He nodded.

Phlox said, "Now that's out of the way, I wanted to T'Pol's progress, or lack there of. Her recovery is not as speedy as I would've hoped."

Archer said, "She's been alone as much as she's wanted. You said that'd help."

The doctor agreed. "I did. But, her aloofness might be part of the problem."

Archer blew out a long breath and placed his hands on his hips.

"Psychology isn't an exact science," Phlox said. "And Vulcans are more difficult to treat than humans. They rarely discuss their feelings and they logician away any uncomfortable emotions rather than accept them."

"No kiddin'" Trip quipped.

"What do we do, Doc?" Archer asked.

"I've been wondering if she needs some time away," Phlox said.

"A vacation?" Trip asked.

"Yes," Phlox said.

Archer asked, "How much time does she need?"

"I think a month should suffice."

"A month! She'd never go for it," Trip said.

"I can give her a medical order."

Archer turned to Trip who shrugged his shoulders.

"One of us should go with her," Phlox said.

"You mean one of the three of us?" Trip asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" Trip asked.

Phlox looked into his eyes. "I think you know the reason."

Trip produced a small frown and then stared at his shoes. Archer's face turned a little sad as well.

"Would she even agree to it?" Trip asked.

"I think she would. She might also see the benefit of this."

Archer nodded to Phlox. "Then, I think you should go."

The doctor tapped his chin for a few moments. "Actually, I was thinking about you."

Shaking his head, Archer disagreed. "She seems to dislike me the most right now. Besides, as captain--"

"That is precisely why you."

His eyebrows knitted together.

"It's important she trusts you," Phlox said.

"I don't think it's a good idea. And I'd hate to force her into something."

"Captain--"

"I … I can't stand the way she looks at me," he admitted to Phlox. "I don't want to put her through that. She doesn't have the same terror in her eyes when she sees you or Trip. I can't do that to her, and I don't want to."

Trip raised his eyebrows and the captain ignored his engineer's gaze.

"Do you want her to return to work?" Phlox asked.

"Yes, but--"

"I doubt she'll recover unless you do this," Phlox said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"She needs to work through this. Her injuries are healing, it's her mental state that seems to be holding her back. If she doesn't do something drastic, she could be in a wheelchair a lot longer. And she'll never be able to resume her duties without … without looking you in the eye and not being frightened that you might do something to harm her."

"I don't like this," Archer said.

Trip offered up his thoughts. "It'll take a couple of weeks to get anywhere with a little blue and green anyway. I mean, before we do something like this we'll have her consent, right?"

"Of course. I would never do this without her approval."

Archer didn't cave.

"And I'll be speaking with her every day to talk about this issue and others she may have. By the time she's leaves, she won't stare at you with fear."

The three were silent, until Trip spoke up.

"Cap'n, sounds like the right thing to do."

After a long sigh, Archer finally agreed. "All right."

Phlox sighed, too. "Good."

"We could all use a little rest and relaxation," Archer said. "It's been a long time since we've had a break."

Trip smiled. "I'll work with Engle on it right away."

Archer nodded. "Thanks."

With that, Archer walked out of Sickbay. Turning down corridor after corridor, he was unaware that Trip was at his heel. When they entered the turbolift, the engineer spoke up.

"You seemed real hesitant back there."

Archer hung his head against his chest. "I just don't want to see T'Pol go through any more; she's been through enough already."

"I think we all feel that way. Everyone on Enterprise."

Archer agreed.

"Can we be frank, Jon?"

It was unusual that his friend called him by his first name. When Trip swallowed deeply and chewed the side of his lip for a second, the captain knew this was going to be a doozie.

"I'm thinking … I'm thinking there may be another reason you didn't want to go with her."

"Huh?"

"Remember about a year and a half ago?"

Archer shook his head. Honestly, the man couldn't remember what he had for lunch two days ago.

Trip said, "You asked me to stop seeing Sub-commander T'Pol."

Archer's hand hit the "stop" on the elevator.

"Do you remember what I asked ya?" Trip asked.

"Trip," Archer warned, "I don't think we should talk about this."

"You love her, don't you?"

"Not this again." He rolled his eyes. "No, Commander, I don't feel that way. I didn't then and I don't now. I won't ever feel that way."

"If you did … well … let's just say I understand. I know you can't tell her now, but maybe soon. You never know, telling her may help."

"I'm not in love with her."

"You spent a lot of time in Sickbay with her."

"She's a friend of mine. And you happened to spend a lot of time there yourself."

"You spent more. There's nothing wrong with falling in love."

"I didn't spend more." His eyes narrowed. "And actually, yeah – there's something wrong with it: it's in the rule books. Section 40, paragraph states--"

"I think just like then, it's an excuse."

Archer sighed. "It's not excuse; it's regulations."

The younger man didn't flinch.

"I'm her friend. That's it. That's all it will ever be," Archer said.

"You know when we yelled that day, I told you she would never return your feelings?"

Archer exhaled. "Don't do this, Trip."

"You remember don't you?"

"I think we're done." Archer's hand was about to hit the button to continue the elevator, when Trip grabbed his arm gently, preventing him from carrying out the motion.

"I was just angry and jealous. You two have always had this special connection. I think if you told her how you feel--"

"I'm done with this topic."

Trip sighed. "Captain, I've never seen ya cry. Ever. Yet, I saw you break down like a baby when we couldn't find her."

"That's enough."

"When she was in Sickbay, you spent every possible moment with her. And even now that she's in her quarters you drop by, even though you know it scares the hell outta her. I think you need reassurance that she's okay. Or, maybe you want to see her it makes you feel good."

Archer shook his head. "I said I'm done with this."

"I know the highs and lows of love. And Cap'n, no offense, but you're in it."

Annoyed, the captain shot back a few choice words.

"I care about every single crewmen under my command. Everyone. If anyone, and I don't care who it is, is injured, I'm going to park my ass in Sickbay with them until I see them take their post again. Understood?"

There was something in the engineer's demeanor that didn't look convinced, but seemed to give up.

"Yes, sir," Trip said quietly.

"Don't ever bring this up again," Archer added.

With that, he smacked the turbolift button and immediately felt it move. Trip got off on the engineering floor without so much as a word. As soon as he left, Archer clenched his fists, until the doors opened for the Bridge. Instead of taking his seat with purpose, he slipped into his Ready Room to be alone with his thoughts and strengthen his resolve.

A month with T'Pol, he thought. If Trip knows, I wonder if other people do? I can't let her know.