The wind kicked up, rushing her hair back against her face and dark clouds hung along the skyline. The once bright and magnificent sun of this planet was now covered, shutting out all light. A crack and a flash across the sky brought the first drops of rain as they melted into the earth.
T'Pol thought the rain, pure and sweet, would feel good against her skin and she wheeled herself to the edge of the patio near the railing to hold out her hands.
There were other memories, lurking, waiting to unleash themselves, but for now she wanted to focus on the one that had just jiggled free; it was painful enough to review several times over.
When she'd first met the captain, she'd surmised he was racist. It wasn't just the curse he'd tossed to her in Starfleet Medical, or the venom behind the threat, when she'd arrived onboard it became clear he held her entire people at fault for his father's death. And yet … even through his mistrust, he managed to save her life.
Part of the reason she'd held out hope that he would come and take her away from the cave and the men who meant to do her harm: she knew he would help. He'd move heaven and hell – and anything in between – to ensure she was safe and sound. He did that for his entire crew, and had ever since she'd known him.
It's unfair of me to blame him for what happened.
Archer was right, those days of prejudice were only a distant memory; she'd become a trusted team member within the first three months of working on Enterprise. Within the first six months, they'd even become friends. The two had, by choice, taken meals together, discussed books and made other conversation that had nothing to do with Enterprise's operations or the crew for years.
She wondered what her words had done to that friendship … even the foundation that was built years ago.
The man was hurt and the excruciating pain of his face – the glassy eyes, turned down mouth and furrowed brow – was plain to see. It bothered her now to know she'd caused that. Each word she'd delivered seemed to torture him.
How could I accuse him of such a thing? Why would I think that?
Feeling the cool wet drops splash against her hands and face, she sighed. The pitter pat against the back steps sounded like the water dripping from the walls of the cave.
I think these memories unearthed pure emotion. Emotions I wasn't even certain I could feel.
Like a child who kicks and screams in frustration, T'Pol had no outlet or understanding for the way she felt. Although she'd always been an emotional creature, at least for a Vulcan, she had no experience with these feelings. She had no idea their power or how and why they manifested themselves.
Bottled up inside was pure rage – hungry like a fire - that consumes everything in its path for fuel. Despair, it was there as well; the loss of a certain innocence that never believed a culture would be so depraved, and the absence of security as if she'd ever be safe again. The fury was focused on everyone around her; it's most recent release flailed out against the captain. The hopelessness was directed squarely at herself.
I don't understand why.
Staring into the rain, which started getting heavier, she wheeled back, just out of its touch and closed her eyes to think about the event that came to mind.
After Ral and his men scribbled their curses on her flesh, they'd stripped the rest of the clothes from her, shoved chlorine down her throat and discussed, drunkenly, whether it'd be best to burn her body or shoot her. As their rowdiness had reached new heights, she'd started begging them - on her broken hands and knees - to end her life quickly. The taste of blood flowed from her ears, still, to her mouth and yet she pleaded with wet eyes. She'd promised they could do whatever they'd wanted to with her body. She'd bartered that if they ended it quickly she would give them anything. Anything. She'd even kissed Ral's hand, a blessing in Salan society, asking for this smallest of favors. The gesture had forced a smile on his face, and with care he'd twirled her blood-smattered hair between his fingers.
"That's my good girl," he'd whispered.
As he'd picked up a board and reared it over his head, meant to deal a blow quickly so that they could indeed do their worst after she'd lost consciousness, she'd heard a commotion in the street. A shadow moved through the corridor – terror on his face and such anguish that she'd wondered if he'd suffered from these men as well.
Viewing this creature, the board delivered its blow, but the severity wasn't enough to kill her, just daze her as if the perpetrator had other things to worry about. Staring hazily at the scene, she'd seen the shadow aim – point blank – at the men, felling them like trees. By the sizzle of the sparks made, she knew the phase-pistol strength had been high, as if to kill these creatures.
Before closing her eyes, she'd remembered mumbling various things – things about work, duties she'd needed to perform. In the midst of reeling off the list, she'd suddenly been scooped into his arms and huddled against his body protectively. Crying, he'd apologized – for what she was unsure - rubbing his finger along her cheek as if she'd been a patient in his care.
And for a moment, she'd gathered clarity. His face - dirty, sweaty, tired and unshaven though it was - had been the one in her darkest hours she'd most wanted to see. His voice had been the one she'd conjured when she was at her most hopeful and the one she'd nearly prayed, though she never believed such a thing was logical, for when things were at their most dire: safety, her friend.
With a small sigh, she stared out at the clearing.
That is hardly the way I treated him, now.
It had been seven hours since their discussion – something she would've ventured was an argument – seven hours that she'd spent in silent reflection watching the rain without anything to drink or eat. Wheeling back into the kitchen, she almost expected to find him there. When she didn't, she wheeled through the first level of the house, searching for him. He wasn't there. A certain panic shot through her limbs and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he'd left, not that she would've blamed him.
Perhaps he's upstairs.
Taking carefully around the sunken living room and then to the edge of the stairs, she looked up at the open door.
"Captain?"
There was no answer.
"Captain?"
She saw a figure stir from the bed, get up and lean over the stairwell holding a book.
"Yeah?"
"Would you like something to eat?"
"No, I'm alright. I had something a little earlier. If you're hungry, there's something on the table." He paused. "I didn't want to disturb you."
She felt her face the weakest of frowns.
"May I speak with you?" she asked.
He gave a guarded look and then nodded. "Sure."
Moving down the stairs and to the end of them, he helped wheel T'Pol to the table she'd sat at earlier that day and then slid into a seat opposite from her.
"I … I apologize," she said.
Looking at the window, he said, "You don't need to."
"I do."
"What you said about my father … my feelings about him. You were right."
"That was several years ago."
"It doesn't make it right." Staring at his thumbs, which he fiddled with nervously, he continued. "I never really apologized about that."
"We've been friends for many years more than whatever misconceptions you had about me. I had many of the same about you."
Meeting her eyes for just a moment, he gave a lopsided smile. "That's true."
The two were silent, when Archer looked back out the window.
"I've been thinking …. I asked Phlox to come tonight."
She'd forgotten she'd asked the doctor to come once per day.
"I think I'd like him to stay here," he said.
"There are only two bedrooms," she said. And then she realized the implication. "I didn't intend to offend you earlier."
"It's not that."
"The words I said … I didn't mean to hurt you."
Gazing into her eyes, he shook his head. "It's not that either."
"Then--?"
"T'Pol, these people … they did terrible things to you. I … I can't imagine what you must be going through. I don't think a friend is what you need. I think you need a doctor."
She shook her head as if she didn't understand.
He said, "I don't think you're just remembering moments. I wonder if you're reliving them."
A furrow ran across her brow. "I don't believe so."
"I think you need help, and I don't think I can give you any," he said.
He stared out the window again, and she believed he was distraught at having to deliver the news.
"I think I understand the primary reason Phlox asked you to come," she said, calmly.
She watched his face and noticed his jaw tensed.
"I only seem to recall memories around you," she said. "I believe Phlox thinks you can help me uncover them and work through them."
Looking down at his lap, he didn't respond.
"I know it must be difficult for you, but I need your help."
He didn't comment. Focused on the rain, his mind seemed to be miles away. She understood her friend well enough to know how he handled being hurt: he either yelled or brooded. What he was doing now was undoubtedly the latter because whatever he felt was aimed directly at himself. She decided to lull him from it.
"Ironic though it is, my memories are not all unpleasant."
The comment grabbed his attention enough to look into her eyes.
"I remembered when you found me. You were worried I wouldn't live."
He nodded.
"I felt an emotion once I realized it was you and that I was safe."
He waited.
"Elation," she said.
His voice hoarse, he finally responded to her. "I may've been worried, but I was elated, too. I'd almost given up hope."
"Tell me," she said.
Archer furrowed his brow, and then went on to recount the days they'd spent searching for her. Each detail reaffirmed he had done everything he could to help her, like one about bartering to retrieve her. Although he hadn't said what he would give them in trade, she could only imagine it was illegal contraband – something that Starfleet would never approve and something that he would only do under in the direst of situations. She knew the Salans lacked sophisticated weaponry, and knew that's what they'd want, not medical supplies.
At the end of his story, she hung her head to her chest.
"I didn't realize," she said.
He looked out the window. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're back."
"I understood from Commander Tucker you were scolded for being late to the Tellar."
"Enterprise was only three hours late."
"The engines were pushed to warp 4.7."
He shrugged. "It's a warp 5 starship."
The two held each other's gaze.
"My problem is that …," she said. The words wouldn't come.
"You're angry," he said, quietly.
"Yes."
"I know. I don't blame you."
"However, I'm not angry at you."
"I know."
"I apologize for earlier."
"It's okay."
When he looked away, she noticed his brow dipped as if he was uncertain the right course of action.
"Are you staying?" she asked.
"T'Pol--"
"I still need occasional help getting around."
"You don't need much."
"Who would cook my meals?"
"Phlox would, although I think you've gained enough strength to do it yourself."
"Who would help me remember?"
He shook his head.
"Captain, I would like you to stay."
He stuffed his hand through his hair, as if he was about to decline, so she sweetened the deal.
"I need you. Please stay."
In a way, she knew he wouldn't be able to refuse and he produced a slow nod.
"All right."
A smile worked itself into her eyes, it was the first time she'd felt good in a long time. Judging by the strange glimmer in his eyes, she wondered if he also felt oddly happy.
"Thank you," she said.
Producing a small smile, he nodded.
She took a plate of fruit and stabbed at a few. Looking down at her bowl of vegetable soup, which had grown cold, Archer intercepted.
"I can heat it up for you, if you're hungry."
"I would like that."
"All right," he said.
Fussing around in the kitchen, he threw a few things together as she looked outside. The rain was only starting to taper off and something of a rainbow shone brightly overhead. There were still storm clouds in the distance, but she silently determined she was enjoy the respite.
A/N: This story is almost over. Only another few chapters to go.