A/N: Thanks, all, for the wonderful reviews.

------

A week went by.

Although it was difficult, Archer's skin stopped crawling at the notion that T'Pol recalled him as her attacker on Salanacon. He accepted the information only because she, on a daily basis, reminded him it wasn't his fault and told him in detail about her hallucination until he realized he wasn't the assailant at all.

Everyday, he ran and swum, just as he had been. He also took a few hikes, enjoying the rugged terrain of the sweeping cliffs that overlooked the limitless ocean as well as one particular challenging course that took him behind an enormous waterfall. At that ridge, cliff divers waited and then plunged into the towering depths to eventually collide with the water. Almost every time, Archer thought about throwing his body into the inviting pool below, but reminded himself these people had been doing this their entire life; this would be his first time. The temptation of adventure intrigued him, but he eventually came a logical conclusion – not to do it; he was curious, but not foolhardy.

On these expeditions, he saw amazing wildlife – more brilliant than those of South America's rainforests. Birds of electric colors, mostly blues, purples and yellows, swooped from tree to tree. Tiny animals that reminded the captain of monkeys with long fuzzy tails would pounce from limb to limb. And along the trail he occasionally saw slithering creatures – like a cross between a centipede and a reptile – that would coil, slide and then carry itself on what seemed like hundreds of tiny legs.

And when he got to clearings he would stare at the sky and let the sunshine tan his skin. Sometimes, if he was hot enough, he would remove his shirt and let the beams touch his back, shoulders and chest and marvel at the freckles that formed there.

Not only was he having a marvelous time exploring, his first officer was markedly progressing. Standing for longer periods of time, she managed to take a few steps.

There also seemed to be a light, a twinkle, coming back to her eyes as if a spark that had almost extinguished re-ignited her very soul.

But, she wasn't completely healed – at least mentally. The only thing that kept he from progressing further, the one issue left, was something Archer wasn't even aware that Vulcans needed just as much as humans: self-esteem.

Cues came in all forms. The clothes she wore weren't her uniform, the one that clung to her body proudly displaying every curve; she covered herself in robed that hung on her form like a tent. Material covered her arms and legs, showing only her head and portions of her neck. Her hair was combed forward as if to mask or hide her ears.

It wasn't just that.

She dodged her reflection in the kitchen's glass hutch and evaded windows as she passed by. Worse, sometimes when she caught her image – as if by accident – she produced a ghost of a frown and as a reflex touched her ears.

A far cry from the confidence she exuded on the bridge, T'Pol was afraid to go outside, beyond their house, and enjoy the sunshine that her home planet gave an abundance of. Although Archer couldn't tell for sure, he gathered it was because she didn't want to be seen – even dressed as thoroughly as she was. Coaxing and cajoling her out didn't seem to work. She always made the excuse of meditation or indicated she wasn't feeling well enough to be taken beyond the confines of the house. He'd push and even try to use the voice that gave orders, the one that held command, but she wouldn't budge.

It was clear – his friend lost her own self-worth as a woman.

Not being a woman, it was harder to understand or grasp. He'd comforted his mother, after his father died and before she remarried, about her own looks. He'd also expressed to girlfriends long past that they had been lovely to reassure them when they were most vulnerable.

What to do about T'Pol was a bit of a quandary. He was neither son, nor boyfriend.

If he were any normal man, instead of her captain, he would grab her by the shoulders and whisper how beautiful she was. He might brush the hair from her forehead under a full moon and kiss her softly, expressing how much she meant to him. If he were any other man, he'd work to build her self-confidence through affection and words.

But, none of that was really possible. It hurt him to see her so forlorn – though she would never admit it - over nothing. And it bothered him that he hadn't worked out the right approach to take … one that wouldn't embarrass either of them. The more he struggled, mulling it over, the more he realized there was bound to be some discomfiture with any method he took. The topic was sensitive, even for a human, but it had to be addressed.

The opportunity finally presented itself.

One day, after making lunch, he called her in to the kitchen. When she didn't answer and he saw her bedroom door opened, he ventured inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a figure in the bathroom brushing her hair and walked through the open door, silently. On closer inspection, he saw T'Pol staring at her image with a frown. The tip of her left ear, one that was usually covered with sable hair, peered out as the source of her dismay. Unaware of Archer's presence, she let her fingers grope the gnarled skin and sighed. As she was about to turn away from her reflection, Archer held her shoulders and faced her back to toward the mirror.

"There's nothing wrong with the woman I see," he said.

"What?" Her eyes fell away from her own image.

"There's nothing wrong," he said.

She didn't answer.

"Look in the mirror," he ordered. And like a dutiful officer, she met her own gaze.

"My ears," she whispered.

"What about them?"

"They're misshapen."

He was about to say something, when she cut him off.

"A female Vulcan's most visually pleasing attribute is her ears," she said.

He furrowed his brow. "Your ears have character. Actually, they always have, now they just have a little more."

"My father used to comment that if it weren't for my ears, no one would know what species I was."

"I don't think that's true," he whispered.

A tiny voice spoke to him. "I don't know who I am."

"You're T'Pol."

"She was Vulcan."

"So are you."

"No," she said.

"Of course you are."

"A Vulcan displays only logic. A Vulcan has tips on her ears."

"I think there's more to being Vulcan than having perfect ears. And despite what your father thinks, you embody many of the characteristics of your race including logic."

She seemed entirely nonplussed as if Archer didn't understand the problem at all. Giving the briefest of sighs, she looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't see a Vulcan at all. I look in the mirror and all I see are scars."

T'Pol wasn't a vain woman. One might even say she was the exact opposite. Archer'd always believed her beauty came from being mostly unaware of how attractive she was. She didn't smear makeup over her skin, in fact she barely wore any. And the clingy outfit she donned as a uniform she wore mostly because she didn't understand its impact to the men onboard. The unassuming air and ignorance to her own appearance made her more desirable, at least to him. There was an inner beauty and grace that sparkled. He'd always admired it – the way she carried herself, her intelligence, the glow of curiosity and the open-mindedness.

He said, "I don't see any scars."

Turning to meet his eyes, she disagreed. "I have many."

"I'm looking," he said, as his eyes darted around her neck and face. "I don't see any."

"My ears for one."

"It's not noticeable."

She quipped an eyebrow at him as if he were blind.

He peered a little closer. "I wouldn't notice them unless I was standing right next to you, and they're … they have character."

Straining her neck, she commanded that he look by pointing to him seemed like a tiny, ghost-like dot. "Here."

Squinting, he said, "Kinda looks like a freckle."

Pushing up a sleeve, she showed her arm. Her skin was still lightly bruised and there were what appeared to be a miniscule scratches along it, but nothing that seemed like the disfigurement she saw.

"T'Pol--" he said, shaking his head.

Rolling up her other sleeve, she showed him more. Some were more prominent than others, but he saw nothing that marred her.

"I have them all over," she whispered. "I don't want to see them anymore."

"It just takes a little time to heal. Doc said you'd be--"

"I don't want anyone else to see them either."

He frowned. As she hung her head, Archer decided to say a few words, confronting the truth.

"You're concerned about your appearance?" he asked.

She had no answer. Instead, she turned toward the sink again, leaning against it to hold her up.

"If you are," he said, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

She caught his image in the mirror.

"I think the men aboard Enterprise …. I've noticed they appreciate you."

She didn't say anything almost as if she didn't believe him. So, he looked her squarely in the mirror.

"I can say as a man, I don't notice the miniscule scratches that you believe somehow mar your beauty."

Slowly, she faced him.

He said, "And you must think very little of men to only be interested in long, pointed ears."

"Vulcan men find those features, in particular, quite attractive."

"Do you want a Vulcan man?" he asked.

She blinked and he realized the conversation was getting a bit personal. Just as he was about to back off, she replied.

"I haven't given that much thought lately."

"My mom used to tell me when I was a teenager that the right girl would find me handsome one day. She said 'Those girls will be the lucky ones.'"

She seemed a little startled at his statement. "You've had self-confidence issues?"

"I can't think of a human that hasn't."

"Captain …," she began. "Vulcans don't typically--"

He sighed that he was still a rank, rather than a person. "Don't tell me about what Vulcans do and don't typically believe. You have emotions just like me even if you're more skilled at hiding them. I think everyone wants to feel … cared for. Everyone wants to be desired. There's nothing wrong with that."

Silence broke out for a few moments, and then T'Pol responded.

"My father believes there's … as you say … something wrong with that."

"I disagree. Although, I suppose it's not the first time I've disagreed with him."

Her lips gave the smallest tremble, and he decided to continue.

"I know you're not exactly the most austere of Vulcans. And yet you manage to be logical and thoughtful. I like that. I think that's why you get along with people so well on Enterprise. It's why you have so many friends who care about you."

She didn't answer him.

"Do you know when you were laid up in Sickbay that I had to turn visitors away. Everyone … more than 80 crewmen … all came to check on you. Some came more than once a day – like Malcolm, Hoshi, Travis and Trip."

The little Vulcan bowed her head.

"T'Pol, if there's one thing you should know is that you're cared for and loved by everyone on Enterprise." After closing into her only slightly, he whispered to her bent form. "I think the man that finally captures your heart will be a very lucky one. You have a lot to offer any man … and your beauty if only one of them."

Her eyes caught his in the mirror and for a second he felt his heart pound inside his chest. Had he been any other man, he would've turned her form and press his lips to her ears – the ones she believed were mangled beyond desire.

But, he wasn't any man. So, he produced the smallest of smiles as if his grin could stroke her cheek.

She finally broke the elongated silence. Slowly she stared into his eyes, and delivered a few words as if they had a double meaning.

"I have been foolish," she said.

His mouth twitched, and he addressed her comment as if it was meant only as a realization. "I think what you're feeling is normal. Although there's nothing wrong with your appearance, self-doubt is hard to overcome. It'll just take time."

Her lips barely curled and he broke the connection of their eyes. Unexpectedly, he felt her fingers wrap around his hand and he looked at her with some confusion before she ended the contact.

"You said you prepared lunch?" she asked.

"Yea," he said, a little shaken.

Helping her into her wheelchair, located directly behind her, he eventually pushed her into the kitchen.

The two had lunch in mostly silence.

------

Another incident happened that week.

T'Pol had awakened earlier than her captain again. Rather than disturb him, she wheeled into the kitchen where she could hear the gentle rumble of his snore. It was still dark outside and the sun was only beginning to poke through the trees located behind the house. Taking out the remnants of his coffee beans, the ones he'd obsessed over when they'd first arrived, she began to prepare his favorite beverage. She'd watched enough times to know exactly what to do – how many scoops, the precise amount of water ….

As she waited, she rolled over to the table and looked at a small item laying there – the captain's wallet. A picture, the old fashioned kind, poked out as if the man had looked at the picture in haste and stuffed it back haphazardly. Giving a sharp eyebrow, she gently pulled it free.

Staring down she saw a picture of the two of them on the bridge, in front of his chair as if they were in charge of Enterprise somehow together. It was a photo Hoshi had taken less than a year ago – something to add to her photo album as well as a shot to be given to Starfleet and hung in a hallway. T'Pol hadn't realized anyone had copies of them, which meant he must've asked for one. As she ran her fingers along the paper, she marveled at it.

The look on Archer's face was confident. His eyes locked with the camera, blazing with a more greenish hue than she had seen before, and somehow despite the awkward pose he managed to look heroic. Next to him, nestled close to accommodate the picture, her own image stared into the lens as if inquisitive – both eyes wide and her lips pursed together. His body language, with his arm slightly behind her – attached to the chair – made his demeanor seem protective and stalwart. And though their bodies weren't touching and they didn't look at each other, the camera captured something that T'Pol was completely unaware of until now.

The two looked like a couple.

It wasn't the traditional human kind, two people desperately in love. Instead, it was a team – two people who were there for each other no matter the circumstance, no matter the time. The team of two were the kind to risk their lives for each other, on a regular basis … more often than could be remembered. And they had enough in common to get along, and enough differences to complement each other.

A team. That is our relationship.

And yet …. There was the hint of something deeper. At least from him. She sometimes believed he had feelings for her, though she knew him well enough to know they would never come to light and he would never act on them. The waves that cascaded off of him from time to time, and that's exactly what they were – on and off - she likened to a crush, a human word for admiring something whimsically.

Thinking on his words yesterday, the ones that were something of a band-aid to her bruised psyche, she wondered if perhaps his feelings went deeper.

Less than a three months ago, when she and Trip were working together in Engineering, the blonde carefully brought up a painful subject – one that hadn't been discussed since their breakup.

"I think you had a crush on me." Trip handled a spanner and then quickly looked out of the corner of his eye.

"Crush?" she asked.

"A fancy. You know, you thought I was attractive."

She put down the relay she had in her hand and watched his face. "You're talking about our past relationship?"

"Yeah. I think I know why you ended it. You only had a crush on me."

Confused, she waited for more information.

"I mean … you still believe I'm kinda cute," he said. The corners of his lips curled up playfully and she saw him barely glance at her, enjoying her bafflement. "But, your feelings back then … it was a crush."

She approached the conversation the wrong way. "Trip, if you believe I misused you–"

"Misused?" he said. A laugh blurted out of his mouth. "No."

"I don't understand."

He put down his tool and leaned in toward her. "You're a Vulcan. Feelings are kinda confusing to you I imagine. You've been hiding them for so long, you may think you feel one way, when you feel actually something else."

That certainly didn't clear up anything for her, and her brow knitted.

"When I was 14, I had a crush on my English teacher – Mrs. Hurley. She had long red hair and big blue eyes. And when she read to the class, she just transported me to another world."

T'Pol blinked. "You had a … crush … on her?"

"Yea. Nothing was meant to happen. She had a husband a daughter around 3-years old. But, damn I loved thinking about what she'd wear, smelling her perfume and listening to her read lines of Shakespeare."

Her eyebrow crept up. "Are you suggesting I thought about what you would wear?"

He smiled confidently. "Don't try and deny it."

Finally, he picked up his spanner again and held it carefully over the equipment he'd been fiddling with. "It's just not love, T'Pol. A crush is something that is never intended to happen."

"How I felt about you, as you describe an infatuation … it was more than that."

He stopped and stroked her cheek for a second. "But, it wasn't exactly love."

With that, he gave her a wink – reassuring her it was okay – and went back to work. Mildly shaken, she watched him for a moment. It pained her to know that his feelings for her were much deeper than possibly hers for him. Ending their relationship, and the way she did, wasn't one of her prouder moments. Occasionally, she thought back to it and regretted finalizing it the way she had. There was a more human approach, one that would explain all her feelings and why she had to end her affair with him.

"Trip," she whispered to the back of his head. Finishing her sentence before he could turn around, she closed her eyes. "You do yourself a disservice to believe I did not care about you. I did."

"I know you cared about me," he said.

When she opened her eyes, he continued puttering around and said something quite sage. "With love … there's this yearning … this massive weight that threatens to strangle your heart. It's crippling. You do all the wrong things for all the right reasons. You smile when there's no reason to. Laugh because you can raise your voice. Cry because its void is unbearable. It's the purest sorrow and the tastiest joy."

She swallowed deeply.

"You'll know it one day – the difference between caring and love," he said. "It'll just come to ya."

She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. To let her know everything was okay, he grabbed her hand and squeezed back.

"Trip--" she said.

Waving away any sentiment, he pointed to the equipment in her hand.

"You gonna hand me that power relay or what?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Damned thing keeps actin' up. I'm telling you, if this doesn't work, I'll just replace the whole lot of them."

And that was it. Rather than focus in on all the heartbreak, he teased her like he might any other time.

It was a great testament to Trip that the man could forgive her so thoroughly. Even if she felt something close to the description he gave, she knew he was right; she didn't love him. It hurt her then, and sometimes – like now – it still pained her.

It was sometimes difficult for her to understand why she had severed the relationship the way she had. Looking down at the picture once more, she understood.

It wasn't the Starfleet regulations that Archer threatened that concerned T'Pol; she knew the captain would never force them - based on those rules – halt their relationship. It wasn't the fistfight she'd witnessed in the Mess Hall.

The matter was much more confusing. She had emotions for the captain – feelings which were more complicated than she would've thought. Knowing his thoughts and having them out in the open made the situation much more perplexing.

With Trip, she'd always felt the butterflies of bemusement. His radiant personality tickled her, quite surprisingly, and his boyish good looks further held his charm. He readily told her his feelings – not quite that he loved her, but enough for her to understand – so she welcomed their first touch and kiss. Befriending Trip had been easy, despite the banter and his impulsive, emotional nature.

Her feelings about the captain were much more complex.

There was a certain amount of what the humans might call hero worship; Captain Archer managed to always swoop in at the most convenient of times and save the day. It was a power he wielded without knowledge or understanding. To be the hero was at the core of his being, not a talent he practiced.

It was more than that, though. The two worked closely together, closer than she had with anyone else. They spent long hours on the bridge together, sought each other's counsel on issues and ate dinner together. The only times she didn't see him were the brief periods she was asked to assist Trip and while she slept.

Hours in each other's company, much of it when fate seemed on the brink of disaster, made a strange kind of friendship. It made the bond between them intense and deep, stronger than any relationship she'd had.

If she weren't a Vulcan, there were times she would've sworn she could read his mind; the ability to know exactly what he was going to say was uncanny. There were times too where their eyes met and she felt a connection. Sometimes, she noticed a spark twinkled in his pupil.

She'd experienced this long before the fight between Trip and Captain Archer in the Mess Hall. There had been times, like when he had discovered her Pa'naar, that she could see his spark. But after the argument, when he'd managed to nearly sever Trip's tongue, she'd suddenly understood what he felt for her was stronger than friendship. Although she'd known that jealousy could exist between friends, she'd witnessed the raw emotion on Archer's face when he eventually came to door to answer for his outrageous actions. He was on the verge of tears – for many reasons – and she was touched at the gesture; she'd had yet to see him cry. And it had caused her, despite his angry words that lashed out at her, to worry about him.

A part of her had wanted to wipe away a tear with one simple sweeping gesture and possibly do away with his strife as well. It hadn't been pity or regret. It had been something else, something that couldn't be quantified. It was what perhaps led her to end her relationship with Tucker so quickly … and badly. It was possibly the reason that she conjured his face when she needed reassurance in her darkest moments.

The emotion was allusive. It was difficult to determine what it was even now.

Closing her eyes, she'd tallied it up as an impenetrable bond of friendship – the kind two people who've devoted their lives to a service feel. And yet … sometimes she wondered if there was more.

Waking her from her daydream, her ears perked up and she heard the snoring suddenly stop with a snort and his ankles flex and pop.

He's up.

Tucking the picture in at the same angle, she waited for him to come downstairs. He must've known she was awake, because he hadn't bothered to comb his hair, shower or shave. Rumpled and askew, his hair stuck out in all directions and his face was covered with a dark shadow.

"You're up before me again," he said.

"It appears that way."

Confounded he gave a small frown.

She said, "Actually, I wanted to awake early. I would … like to join you today. I believe you said there was a path we could take together."

"There is."

"Do you mind?"

He smiled. "Not at all."

She nodded as they went through their morning ritual of having her stand and take a few steps. When she'd finished and he'd helped her settle back into her chair, he leaned in a little.

"You know, as long as you're accompanying me on a hike, you could swim with me."

"Perhaps one day."

He nodded.

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

"You serious?"

"Yes."

He stared, furrowing his brow.

"I'll ask Enterprise to send something appropriate and then perhaps you and I can concentrate more fully on attempting to walk. We're not here very much longer, and I would like to return to duty soon."

"Okay," he said. She watched as he noticed she made him coffee and headed toward the machine that spurt it out. "You made this?"

"Yes."

His smile widened with surprise. "Thanks."

Before he reached it, she stopped him with her voice. "I've been entering deeper trances at night. I'd … I'd like to show you something."

He paused. "Okay."

Placing her hand on either side of the armchair, she pushed herself up with ease. And then confidently, as she'd been doing this all her life, she took several small steps. As she was about to take her fifth, she decided to warn him.

"I'm unsure I can continue."

He grinned wildly, closing the distance between them. "I'm here."

Breathing deeply, she tried before collapsing into his arms. For a second, he held her there, his deep rumbling laugh meant to encourage her, and then he eased her back to her chair.

"Maybe we should ask Phlox to give you the cane he'd talked about," Archer said.

"A cane? I'm not certain I'm ready."

Slyly, his grin turned toothy. "We can keep it here just in case."

It was hard to disagree with that logic.

Pouring himself a cup of java, he looked back with a lopsided grin. "I better hurry up if we're going for a walk today."

She smiled internally as she watched him nibble at his toast and swig his coffee. Her thoughts went back to the picture and she decided to put an end to the kind of thinking that worried about how she felt. Her primary goal was to get well and recover – to rejoin the team.

And if Trip was right, her feelings would eventually make themselves known anyway.

TBC