Redemption
Chapter 7
They entered Jonathan's apartment and T'Pol placed her ingredients on the kitchen counter. She'd felt uncomfortable about returning to his apartment, but Jonathan had reminded her that he'd promised to let her borrow his kitchen so she could make some Plomeek broth. Despite the incident on the pier, which he wanted to forget, he didn't see any reason why she couldn't make herself at home.
The journey back had been mostly in silence. They'd left the pier, caught a cable car back to Lombard Street and then driven up here. The silence had only been interrupted when Jonathan asked if she still wanted to make Plomeek broth tonight. At first she'd said it was inconsequential and he could drop her off at her hotel. But he'd been insistent that she return with him to cook her broth, so in the end she'd acquiesced.
"If you need anything, just ask," he told her.
"Jonathan?"
"Yes?"
"What are you going to eat? I could make you some Plomeek broth if you like."
"Err…thanks, but no thanks. I sampled some back on board Enterprise…it's not really my thing."
"If you'd like to cook something for yourself, I can wait."
"Nah, go ahead. I'm not hungry. I think I'll just have a beer," he said and opened the fridge to retrieve one.
It was 5pm now, in an hour she was certain he'd be hungry. She decided to make enough broth for two people in case he changed his mind. She thought about making him a salad but then remembered that he hadn't been grocery shopping.
He fed Porthos, then seated himself on the sofa with his beer and turned on the television. Nothing much of interest there. Then he remembered something T'Pol had said earlier. He knelt down on the floor and rifled through his CD collection, looking for a specific album. Some music might be nice. When he found the item in question he popped it into his CD player.
T'Pol looked up from preparing her ingredients as the room was filled with a melodious sound. It reminded her of those rare escapades she'd made from the Vulcan compound to listen to this style of music. It was relaxing, soothing and penetrated the soul. She closed her eyes for a moment and re-imagined walking down a foggy Sausalito street late at night to her familiar haunt. She pictured herself opening the door to the smoke-filled bar and sitting alone at a table in the corner.
"Wanna dance?" A voice interrupted her memory. Her eyes flew open and she found Jonathan standing right next to her. Was he serious?
"I don't know how."
"Let me show you then," he offered.
What was with his behaviour! She considered asking Phlox to check him for bipolar disorder. Less than an hour ago he'd been silent, broody and miserable. He'd yanked his hand away from her and told her they could never have a relationship. And now he wanted to dance?
Logically she should have refused and questioned his behaviour. But the music was enticing and his offer…tempting, so momentarily she tossed logic aside and agreed.
She stepped over to the middle of the living room with him. He showed her where to place her arms correctly…for a dance lesson this was intimate! She was flush against him and he had one arm curled around her waist, while his other hand was intertwined with her own.
The saxophone played and they swayed gently to it, Jonathan leading her. This dance wasn't so hard…there really wasn't much to it, she thought. It felt more like an excuse for physical closeness…but maybe that's what dancing was all about to humans.
She closed her eyes, resting her head on his chest. His arms pulled her tightly to him. She felt safe, warm and completely surrounded by him. She could hear the steady beat of his heart intermixed with the intoxicating melody and hoped the music would never end.
Without warning, Jonathan's lips were on hers — but not like the night he'd been drunk. This was more of a gentle caress, waiting for her response before he deepened it.
"Jonathan," she whispered.
He kissed her again, this time with more passion and urgency. She felt drunk on his emotions…and while a voice in her head kept asking why and saying none of this made any sense…she chose to ignore it.
Instead she revelled in the moment: the feel of his lips on hers and his strong arms holding her so tight it was almost difficult to draw breath. But that didn't wasn't important, all that mattered was how wonderful it felt to be in his embrace, and this was where she wanted to be.
All too soon the music ended and the room was filled with silence. All that was audible to Jonathan was the pounding of his own heart. He gently released her.
"I'm sorry, T'Pol." What had he been thinking? What the hell was wrong with him?
"Don't be sorry."
He walked over to the cabinet and turned the CD player off. He didn't want any other tracks on the CD to play. His impetuous idea had been a bad mistake.
He returned to her side and studied her. Here was one confused Vulcan woman and he didn't blame her. He was a first class idiot. He was surprised she hadn't slapped him across the face. Any human woman would have by now. He kept giving off mixed signals.
"I got caught up in the music, the mood…my behaviour was inappropriate." He made an attempt at an explanation, though it in no way excused his actions.
"I'd thought for a moment you were doing what you actually wanted," she replied coldly. "I see I was mistaken."
"Mistaken? No…I mean…yes...no…I mean…oh God I don't know what I mean anymore. I'm so confused." He sat down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands.
He sounded genuinely sorry. As for the confusion — well she didn't need to be convinced of that.
She sat down beside him and stroked his hair. "Talk to me," she whispered. "Tell me what you are feeling."
He looked up at her. "I feel like there's two people inside of me battling it out," he explained. "There's the me before the Expanse who feels so much but doesn't know what to do with all these feelings — guilt, depression, loneliness, anger, frustration, along with love and desire… And then there's the other guy — the tough as steel, emotionless, cruel, no-holds barred creep who cared for nothing except fulfilling a mission…whatever the cost."
She noted that he'd mentioned two positive feelings in the list of emotions — love and desire. Did they pertain to her? It was obvious he was in a lot of emotional pain and she was probably out of her depth to deal with this. He needed someone professional to talk about these things and work through the guilt that seemed to be preventing him from experiencing anything happy in his life.
"I don't think you can delineate your feelings so, Jonathan. This other persona you refer to as emotionless…I don't think he exists. I've never known you to be emotionless or cruel. As I told you in the cafeteria this morning, the fact that you feel remorse for your actions is a step in the right direction. The next one is starting to forgive yourself."
He got up and started to pace the room. "How can I, T'Pol? You think I can just tell myself — oh forget it, your planet's saved now, no need to worry about a bunch of aliens you stranded in the middle of nowhere."
"Jonathan, you left them with food and trellium, not helpless. Remember that."
"And it's gonna take them three years to get home, T'Pol. Three long years! How am I supposed to live with that?"
"Then what do you suggest? You can't undo what you did. You have to move forward."
"I can't." He leaned up against his window, staring out at the city. Everyone going about their daily lives — they were all safe now. They didn't have to worry about the threat of destruction anymore. He'd sold his soul for this to happen.
"Yes you can."
"How? I don't even know where to begin."
"The fact that you want to start is a beginning in itself. Why not make an appointment to see someone?"
"You mean a shrink?" He looked aghast at the suggestion.
"A psychologist is better qualified to deal with how you feel than I am, though I'm always willing to listen."
"You think I want to go see a mind-doctor so they can brain wash me into thinking what I did was okay as long as I saved Earth? I mean that's what the head honchos at Starfleet seem to think. Pat on the back for the guy who saved Earth, we'll just ignore the stuff you did in the interim."
"Jonathan, this is a vicious cycle. You keep beating yourself up over this. It has to stop. I care about you too much to watch you torture yourself like this."
Care. She'd said it again. She'd be better off she didn't feel that way. He hated burdening her so.
Maybe the Vulcans had been right — if Enterprise had never embarked on her mission, humans wouldn't have made so many enemies and maybe the first Xindi attack would never have occurred.
Moments ago he'd shut out the guilt and despair and luxuriated in the feeling of her lithe body against his, her lips responding to his. He wanted her…he wanted it all. But he didn't deserve it…he'd allowed himself these momentary lapses of pleasure but then his conscience started to bug him.
"I'm sorry, T'Pol. I don't think I can give you what you want."
"What do you mean?"
"You want a relationship with me…I can't give you that, I already told you that on the pier."
"You used the excuse of being captain."
Excuse? So she'd seen right through him — so much for using that ploy.
"It was wrong of me to kiss you…a momentary lapse of weakness but it won't happen again."
"It is in your momentary lapses of weakness that you seem to act on your true feelings. I think you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you…but something's holding you back."
Hmm…how intuitive she was, but still he couldn't afford to act on his feelings. It wasn't fair to her. She deserved better…she should be with someone who treated her right, respected her and didn't act like someone with a schizophrenic personality.
"Why would you want to get involved with an emotional, unbalanced, illogical human anyway T'Pol? There must be hundreds of logical, unemotional Vulcan men who'd vie for your hand."
Her Vulcan patience was wearing thin. She breathed in and out slowly, suppressing the tinge of anger that was building up inside her. She was about to answer him in a calm, collected manner when the doorbell rang.
He went to answer it.
"Captain Archer, I presume?" the delivery guy asked.
"Yes."
"These are for you," he said passing him a large bouquet of white lilies.
Jonathan took the flowers, placing them on the kitchen counter, and returned to the door. "Who are these from?"
"I believe there's a card attached to the flowers, Captain. Would you mind signing here to confirm receipt?" he asked passing Archer a computer padd with a pen attached.
Jonathan scribbled his signature on the electronic padd, and returned it to the young man, then gave him a tip. The young man thanked him and left.
T'Pol surveyed the flowers. They were exquisite — someone must have paid a lot of money for these.
Jonathan shut his front door, and checked the card the flowers came with. He had an inkling as to who they were from and the card confirmed his suspicions.
Jon Darling!
Just got back today. Sorry to miss your hero's welcome, but I was on another assignment in Europe. I'm dying to see you — I'll call in the morning so we can arrange something. Much Love,
Rebecca.
Rebecca — she was the only woman he knew who ever sent him flowers — and she always went all out on some fancy expensive bouquet.
He'd actually wondered when she'd show up and had been surprised not to see her along with her fellow reporters at Starfleet HQ. He'd last seen her just before shipping out for the Expanse — it had been a dinner between friends. She'd wanted to wish him luck on the mission. He'd suspected she might have wanted to rekindle their relationship then, but she'd been no more than a good friend that night.
He guessed it was only natural that she wanted to see him now, so decided to not read into it any further. He took a vase out from one of the kitchen units, poured water into it, and placed the flowers inside.
"They'd look nice on the coffee table," T'Pol suggested, hoping he'd reveal who the sender was. She hypothesized that it was a woman, otherwise Jonathan would have spoken by now.
"Yeah…good idea," he agreed and did just so. "I suppose you're wondering who sent them."
"It's not my business if you don't wish to tell me."
"It's not a big deal, T'Pol. An old girlfriend sent them — her name's Rebecca."
He'd been about to explain that there was nothing between Rebecca and him anymore when he stopped himself. This was a cruel thing to do but if T'Pol believed there was something between him and his old flame she'd move on. The last thing he wanted to do to T'Pol was hurt her. No, this was protection — he was protecting her from himself.
"I see." So she'd been right, it had been a woman after all. And someone he'd been romantically involved with. "She wishes to see you?"
"Yes…she's gonna call in the morning."
Did Jonathan still have feelings for this woman? He'd never mentioned her before, but then he was rather secretive about his private life. She didn't know what to think. It appeared that he was willing to see her and he seemed pleased with the flowers. As far as she was aware sending flowers to a man was considered a romantic gesture. This Rebecca obviously had designs on the captain and wished to rekindle their relationship.
She remembered her ingredients on the kitchen counter that she'd been about to cook. Her appetite for Plomeek broth had long since disappeared. She felt exhausted and was struck with an overwhelming sense of numbness.
"I am going to go back to the hotel now," she informed Jonathan.
"What about your dinner?"
"I'm not hungry anymore."
Now he felt guilty. He'd really upset her. But in the long term this was for the best. Perhaps not for him…but at least for her. "I'll drive you."
"No, I rather you did not. I will walk."
"Haven't you walked enough today? And you'll be cold. You don't even have a jacket."
She hadn't thought of that, but it didn't matter. "I'll be fine."
"If you won't let me drive you, at least borrow one of my jackets."
"Very well."
He went off to his bedroom to get one, rummaging through his wardrobe to see if he had a smaller one that might not be so huge on her. To his surprise right at the back was a woman's jacket. He took it out and examined it. It was a petite black leather jacket that had belonged to Rebecca. She must have left it here several years ago and he'd forgotten about it.
He reappeared and showed her the jacket. "I had no idea I had this, but this should fit you snugly."
T'Pol took the jacket and slipped it on. It did fit well. "Who did this belong to?"
"I believe it's Rebecca's, she must have left it here a while back."
"Then I'll return it in the morning so you can give it to her."
"There's no rush. I doubt she even misses it."
"Goodnight, Jonathan. Thank you for your company today."
"Thanks for yours."
He opened the door for her, then walked her to the elevator. "I know things haven't turned out the way you wanted but it's probably for the best. We're gonna have a ship to run in two months time, and having personal feelings get in the way could have proven problematic."
"Jonathan, those personal feelings are there…I can't erase them. I thought yours were too, perhaps I was mistaken. However, I will conduct myself with the utmost of professionalism when we are back on duty. But your theory is flawed."
He didn't want to argue with her and the elevator had arrived. As the electric doors closed and her face disappeared he thought how lovely she looked in Rebecca's jacket. It was as if it had been made for her.
He strolled back to the apartment and closed the door. Silence greeted him…but it was of his own doing. He could have been here with T'Pol in his arms right now if he'd just let her. He sighed heavily and noticed that she'd left her ingredients for the Plomeek broth. Gathering them together, he put them in a plastic container and placed them in the fridge.
He seated himself on the sofa and noticed his beer from earlier. It was probably warm by now. He swigged the bottle back…yeah it was warm, but he wasn't gonna waste it. He drank it…all the while wondering what Rebecca truly wanted.
TBC