The next day, she awoke to the sound of humming and pots clinking and clanging in the kitchen. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up, but as the sunshine shone in her eyes, she realized it was time to awake.
Righting herself, she reached over for her wheelchair and scooted into it gingerly. She rubbed her eyes and gave the smallest yawns admitting silently that she'd slept better last night than she had in some time.
After preparing herself for the day – a shower, meditation and fresh clothes, she wheeled herself into the kitchen.
The first thing she was his rump in the air, hanging out of one of the cabinets, as curses fell out of the captain's mouth.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked.
"I thought I put a bag of coffee beans here last night," he said.
Without waiting for an answer, he dove back under the sinks – crouching on all fours – to look one more time in the cupboard. As the pots and other accoutrement clattered and his fanny waved in the air furiously, his arms dug farther into the back.
"You could ask our guide to see if they have something that is the equivalent," she said.
Archer gave a glance over his shoulder and grumbled as he reached back into the cabinet.
"Or, you could ask someone from Enterprise to send something to you," she said to no one in particular.
Giving up, she wheeled herself to the table and settled against it to eat some of the fruit – locally grown – that he'd set on the table. The moment she stabbed a round juicy yellow object, cut it into pieces and shoved some in her mouth, she heard his voice call out.
"Help yourself to whatever's on the table. You don't need to wait for me."
Flinging her eyes to the kitchen with a slight twinge of guilt, she saw his form rise from behind the counter – as he'd made the comment before he saw her eating. Instead of scolding her, he produced a large toothy smile and his expression changed to bemusement.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He then jabbed his thumb to the door and suggested he'd do the very thing she brought up several minutes ago.
"I'm going to ask the guide about … a few things," he said.
She cut into another piece of fruit, nodding as he left.
Sighing, mostly because no one could hear her, she stared at the large windowpane to look at the trees that surrounded the back of the house. They waved gently in the breeze, rustling with the wind, just over the roar of the ocean. Tranquility.
Taking a deep breath, she could smell the ocean – the salt water – and occasionally heard the caw of a seabird. Here, it was more peaceful than she remembered. A beam of sunshine poked between a few trees hitting her squarely in the eyes.
An electrifying thought tore through her brain.
A flashlight shone directly in her eyes and she tried to blink through it, but couldn't. She could feel the autonomic response – her eyes fluttering one way and then the other.
"Can you hear me?" asked a voice. "Are you dead? Maybe she's dead."
Her throat was caked with mucus – as if she'd been crying for hours on end – making it impossible for her to respond. Although awake, her eyes were rolling back almost in defense.
She was catatonic.
Ral leaned over. "No. She's not dead. Vulcan stamina is legendary. She could withstand more. Much more. I think she just blacked out."
A voice shouted, "Not so snobby without her ears, is she?"
Another asked, "I wonder if she can still hear us?"
With all her might, she tried to move her lips in protest, but they wouldn't budge.
Ral said, "She's bleeding like a pai'nag. She's going to die of blood loss."
One voice, which'd been at her side almost as long as Ral had, spoke. "I'd like to write something." After tearing away the clothing at her stomach, he dipped his finger in her blood and wrote a few words.
Ral looked down and laughed, then read it aloud. "Vulcan whore. Very original."
Her mind, which had focused on Archer as her ears were sheared, pleaded with the captain to rescue her as he'd done on so many other occasions. The man always had a way of showing up in the nick of time, and she willed him to appear in front of her eyes this time just like he would for anyone else. As if invoking a psychic bond between them, which she knew didn't exist, she called to him – echoing in her mind that she was in a cave and he should look for her there. The only thing that met her pleas was the void … black silence.
A voice said, "You should write something on her too."
"All right," he said, menacingly. "Help me tear more of her clothing away."
Though she'd wanted to squirm and thrash from their touch, she couldn't make herself move. Silently, she called again to Archer, hoping he'd help her. Maybe she'd even let the words fall from her lips as the men crowded around her.
A hand gently touched her shoulder. "T'Pol?"
Shaking, she screamed until she felt her crack and go hoarse; it was a shriek that caused the birds resting on the trees to flap their wings frantically, flying away in alarm. Even the hand that once rested on her shoulder, retracted quickly as the owner nearly fell back with fright.
Her breath was ragged and she tasted the sweat that had already begun pouring down her face. Through a foggy haze, she could see Archer.
"I'm sorry," Archer said. "When I got back you were --"
Wild, her eyes almost as a reflex scanned for more assailants.
"Are you okay?"
Trembling, she blinked carefully. "Yes."
Easing back to stand farther away, he said a few more words. "You had a memory?"
She didn't say anything.
"Phlox said you may start to remember."
She didn't answer.
"T'Pol?" he asked.
She watched his face grow more serious with concern.
"Would you like me to call him down here?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
He blew out a deep breath. "T'Pol!"
"When you rescued me … was I clothed?"
"Huh?" Confusion spread over every feature.
"Did I have clothing on?" she asked.
"Listen, it's--"
"Yes or no?"
Licking his lips, he ducked his head and stared down at the floorboards. "No."
When her gaze stared out at the trees in front of her, she noticed Archer crouched down. There was more it looked like he wanted to say, but hesitated waiting for her response.
"I … I don't remember being naked."
Instead of explaining that he'd held her so closely to his body that she was covered with his, something she'd remembered only now, he fell quiet.
"I willed you to come, Captain. It was foolish of me to do so, but I willed you to come and help me."
"I tried--"
"When they … when they began to snip away at my ears, I thought perhaps you'd come soon. I thought to myself you'd arrive at any moment."
"I'm sorry. I did everything in my power to get there. I talked to the--"
"You've always managed to come just in time before."
"T'Pol--"
"When we first met, you took fire for me, when I was alone in the snowstorm … when I was in danger of being killed by the Suliban."
"I did everything I could --"
"I knew you didn't want to necessarily save me from the Suliban. But, I believed you thought life was important … even my own."
"Listen,--"
"It was irrational of me to hope you would liberate me, and yet I did … because you have done so in the past …."
"I'm so sorry. If I could've been there instead of you--"
"I … I believe some of my fear about you is …. I'm concerned next time you won't come at all."
She could tell he wanted to say something, but he listened instead.
"I'm …" she looked out onto the clearing and then the trees that surrounded the house. "In some way, I believed that perhaps you weren't eager to help a Vulcan."
The words were difficult to spit out, but the impact of them left him speechless.
"I thought perhaps you still held a grudge against me," she said.
Silence broke way to confusion, and after several seconds, he finally responded.
"You really think that?" he asked, softly.
She stared ahead as he emphatically denied the comment. "You know that's not true."
Rationally, she knew it wasn't true, but it'd crossed her mind – even when she'd waited for her clothes to be ripped away by savages who'd wanted to leave their mark on her. And for a split second, she'd wondered if Ral and the captain had something in common: a hatred for her people.
Seeing if Archer was still behind her, she looked back and met his eyes; they were tears clinging there. There was a friendship with him, and this between them – something that had been a long time - was difficult to discuss.
"Ral's father was killed, not by the Vulcans, but he blamed them," she said. "It's why he chose to torment me."
"I don't think you're responsible for my father's death," he said, weakly.
"You think the Vulcans are."
"No."
"You did."
"I would never …," he said hoarsely. "I did everything I could to get there in time. Everything. I would've given anything to help you. Trip and I--"
"You blamed us for not just hindering your father's work, but for ending his life."
Archer shook his head vigorously.
"Captain, in the past I've wondered if you blamed me. And, for an instant there on Salanacon, I believed you chose not to help me as a way to make me pay … for my race to pay."
"No."
"Do you deny you once blamed me?"
Imploring, his eyes asked her to stop and yet she couldn't. Taking this discussion to its logical conclusion was what she and Archer had agreed to do here, even as difficult as it was.
"Captain?" she asked. It was gentle nudge.
Stuffing his hand through his hair and letting his head go limp, he watched the ground. "Maybe when you were first assigned to Enterprise. But, … that was a long a time ago."
She nodded, as if that was the answer she'd been anticipating all along.
He said, "You've got to believe me when I say I would've done anything to get to you sooner. I--" He opened his mouth as if there was more to say and then closed it.
"Rationally, I know."
"But--?"
"I wanted to discuss this with you … for you to understand one of the reasons I am afraid …."
The dullness in his eyes and the grimace that spread over his face said everything. She'd never thought he was like Ral, or never would've made that connection until recently.
"During my capture, Ral wrote words on my skin with my own blood."
Archer bit his lip and as a reflex he leaned forward. "T'Pol--"
"They read: This is for you, Father."
His voice was still hoarse. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Not now … not even then."
Drawing her limbs a little closer to her, as if cold, she looked back out at the trees. "My thoughts are irrational. My emotions …. If I had a priest to help me …."
He sighed and then after a few minutes spoke to her. "What can I do?"
"I don't know."
Archer bent his head. "You told me that you agreed in some ways with Ral. That your species is to blame."
"I do."
"What makes you think you're the one who needs to suffer on behalf of all Vulcans for their mistakes?"
She was silent, and pondered the question. "The Vulcans have made many mistakes." Pausing, she glanced at him. "I believe they made a mistake in how they chose to deal with humans."
"Hatred and prejudice is aimed at a group of people, not a person." He knelt next to her. "When I got to know you, I realized you weren't just a Vulcan."
"I told them my name. I thought it might help telling them my name." She noticed he waited for more information. "Shouldn't it have made a difference?"
Reaching tentatively at first, he wrapped his hand around hers and held it firmly.
Silence broke out as she stared out into the area behind them. Her breathing was a little erratic, as if her emotions were just beginning to overcome her. She'd been amazed at her own control during the conversation.
"I never hated you, T'Pol," Archer said.
Nodding, she accepted that information.
"I may not have always liked you, but I never hated you. I may've blamed the Vulcans for what happened to my father … but after knowing you, I understand more."
He sighed. "Now I wonder if the Vulcans weren't right -- whether we were ready to explore the stars."
Turning her head, she looked back into his eyes.
"I sometimes think if my father was such an exceptional engineer, he should've made his own engine fly instead of relying on the Vulcans."
She understood that was a difficult leap for him to make, or at least a difficult point to concede. By the look on his face, it was not easily admitted; the very notion and possibly saying those words, brought him grief.
"You don't like the Vulcans even now, though," she said.
A pained expression fell over his face. "I don't like them because of the way they treat you."
T'Pol was not a woman driven to extreme emotion, but something about the way her commander said that made her stomach shrink and her throat constrict. Swallowing, or attempting to swallow, she felt tears run down her face.
She'd never quite fit into Vulcan life – the emotionless rigor of her people never sat well with her. She'd always been a disappointment to her father who spoiled his attention on her brothers. Her entire existence, to him, was a lifetime of disappointments: how she'd nearly failed her rite of passage - the kas-wan, her strong attachment to her selhat, her interest in other cultures even over her own often caused concern and her insatiable curiosity. Admittedly, she'd indulged in foolish endeavors - reading Vulcan love sonnets as a young girl and spending what her father considered far too much time on her appearance.
It was a lifetime spent, as her father would say, in pursuit of the irrational and emotional. It was not the Vulcan way.
As an outcast, a rebel – it was odd that years later she would serve as the face of Vulcan to many races the humans, Andorians and to people like the Salans.
Wiping away her own tear, she looked into Archer's eyes, which were also glassy.
"I'm sorry. I'll never let you down again," he said.
The promise was illogical, but it gave her comfort even if the touch of their skin – his hand was still firmly clamped around hers - unnerved her a bit.
"That is a vow you cannot keep," she said.
"I'll do my best to keep it, if you don't hold yourself responsible for what happened."
That was a promise she couldn't keep either.
"I'd like to spend some time alone today, reflecting," she said. The comment had cut through the moment and helped release her hand from his tight grasp.
"Sure," he said.
"I'll be on the back patio if you need me," she said.
He nodded. "Okay."
Wheeling herself back into her bedroom and then out the door, she felt emotionally drained. Perhaps this is what Dr. Phlox wanted her to ruminate on during her "vacation." Suddenly the paradise around her seemed more foreboding.
A storm brewed on the horizon.
TBC