Redemption

Chapter 14

T'Pol was busy preparing her evening meal when she heard a call coming through. She put down the knife she was chopping vegetables with and moved over to the computer screen in the living room, curious as to who would be calling at this time. She doubted it was Jonathan, he'd already called this morning.

"Good evening, T'Pol." The face of Maxwell Forrest greeted her.

"Admiral," she answered, hoping he was calling in regard to the Illyrians.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I wanted to call you earlier, but I've had a busy afternoon."

"It's not a problem."

"Have you heard from Jonathan today?"

"Yes, I have."

"May I ask what you discussed?"

"Nothing Starfleet related, Admiral. He wanted to know how his dog was."

"I see…so he never mentioned the Illyrians to you?"

"No, Admiral." Her curiosity was piqued. "May I enquire why you ask?"

"He contacted me this afternoon — his request was very similar to yours yesterday. "

Her eyebrow rose in surprise. "I see."

"I told him he was still off-duty and it wasn't a matter I could discuss on a non-secure line. He was calling from a vacation villa, after all. You never know who could be monitoring these kinds of transmissions."

"True," she nodded.

"I said we could discuss this upon his return and for the time being, I suggested he enjoy his vacation."

"Oh."

"T'Pol, your request yesterday…that was entirely your own idea?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"You didn't even confer with Jonathan about it?"

"No."

"But the two of you have discussed the Illyrians since your return to Earth?"

"As I informed you yesterday, Captain Archer feels guilty over his actions in regard to these people, and he's expressed that to me. That is why I was hoping we could do something to help them." She paused for a moment. "What did the captain say to you?""He wanted to talk about a way to rescue their ship, but wasn't specific. Said something about he couldn't sit idly knowing they were out there stranded and without help. Like I told you, I said I'd discuss it with him when he returned."

"I see. Have you spoken to the council members about my suggestion?"

"Not yet, I've been rather busy today."

She was a little disappointed, she'd hoped he would have convened a meeting on the matter by now.

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear something," Forrest informed her.

"That would be appreciated. Thank you, Admiral."

"I'll let you go then. Sorry to have disturbed you."

"Not at all, Admiral. I appreciate you letting me know the captain contacted you."

Forrest smiled and bid her goodnight.

She returned to the kitchen and preparing her meal. She put the rice in boiling water and covered it. She chopped up some peppers and zucchini and began to fry them.

She was glad Jonathan had contacted Forrest, obviously the vacation hadn't dulled or shut off his conscience. The first step in his recovery would be doing something pro-active in regard to the Illyrians.

If he hadn't escaped to Fiji…if Rebecca hadn't turned up…maybe they could have worked together trying to convince Forrest to organize a rescue attempt for the stranded aliens. If…

Well there was no point dwelling on ifs, Jonathan was on Fiji and she was here in San Francisco. Whatever her feelings about Rebecca…and her supposed relationship with Jonathan, it didn't negate her wish to help her captain and friend with his problem. Their problem. She continued to feel partly responsible herself, even though she'd been against the stealing of the warp coil from the moment Jonathan had told her his idea.

Fifteen minutes later she seated herself on a kitchen stool and began to eat. She recalled her morning conversation with Jonathan. She'd been taken aback by his call, and then been uncommunicative on purpose. She normally suppressed her emotions, but she'd seen no reason to hide her displeasure with him. Her first reaction had been concern — he'd looked terrible: pale, tired and drawn. When he'd told her he hadn't slept her first instinct had been to ask why not, but she'd quashed that desire. Now she pondered why — it was probably his thoughts about the Illyrians.

While they'd been in the Expanse she'd been aware of the fact that he'd been having trouble sleeping, but she'd guessed he'd messed up his circadian rhythm with all the sleepless nights pouring over the Xindi database in the Command Center. And of course there'd been the large amounts of caffeine coupled with stress.

She should have approached him then, and not allowed the situation to fester. Phlox should also have said something. Ironic how much fuss was made of Tucker over his sleeping problem and yet they'd all sat back and done nothing about what had been ailing Archer.

But that was the past…and she couldn't undo it.

She took another forkful of rice and noticed it was bland tasting. A few years ago she would have found that satisfactory, but during her time on Enterprise Chef had attempted to expand her culinary horizons, and now she yearned for something with a little more zing to it.

She stood up remembering that Jonathan kept some herbs and spices in one of the cupboards. She reached up and took out a bottle labelled garlic powder and sniffed it. It was strong smelling but if she used it in moderation it might improve the taste of her rice. Returning to her seat she sprinkled a little over her dish, then mixed it all in with her fork. Taking a mouthful she sampled it. Hmm…yes this was an improvement.

Her thoughts drifted back to this morning's conversation. She'd studied the captain's face as she'd informed him of her impromptu meeting with Steve Johnson. At first it appeared the name invoked no memory, but the moment she'd mentioned he was a doctor, it was if a light bulb had gone off in Jonathan's brain. Her instincts told her that Johnson was more than just an acquaintance.

Jonathan's displeasure at the thought of her meeting with Dr. Johnson again had not escaped her notice. Not that it was likely to happen, but why should that be of concern to him? He was involved with Rebecca, was he not? Or was it something completely different Jonathan was concerned about? Did Dr. Johnson know things about him that he didn't want T'Pol to discover?

She finished up her meal, washed the dishes and cleared up the kitchen. She brewed herself some mint tea and went over to the computer. She keyed in her security code and brought up the Starfleet database. She clicked on the search engine and typed in the words Steve Johnson. The search brought up nothing so she tried Doctor Steven Johnson and waited. Within a few seconds his record appeared on screen.

He was the same age as Archer, just as she'd supposed — both being born in 2112, though Johnson was a few months younger. He'd joined Starfleet not long after the Xindi attack on Florida. Before that he'd worked in various civilian hospitals across the country. It appeared that he'd foregone the usual Starfleet training and waiting periods, just like her. He'd been assigned to a Starfleet medical facility in Jacksonville. He'd been reassigned to Starfleet Medical in San Francisco within the last week. Perhaps he was he was returning to his roots — he'd got his M.D. at Berkeley and it stated his birthplace was Santa Cruz.

As she scanned his record she noticed something of interest — his speciality was psychiatry. Now his assignment in Florida made sense — he'd probably had his work cut out for him counselling survivors of the relatives who'd been killed.

While her discovery was interesting, it didn't tell her anything about the connection Archer had with Johnson. And she was curious. But for now she'd have to be content with what she'd learned. She turned off the computer screen, and went to watch the evening news.

Jonathan was attempting to read his book again, but to no avail. He'd keep reading the same line over and over. He slammed it shut and chucked it on the coffee table. Rebecca was watching one of her favourite weepies on the television in her bedroom, letting him have the living room to himself.

They'd stayed in for dinner — she'd cooked, despite his protests. She'd explained that she loved to cook and it relaxed her. She'd driven the jeep into town during the afternoon to pick up some ingredients and been busy in the kitchen ever since her return. She'd really outdone herself — he wondered why she hadn't become a professional chef instead of a journalist.

They'd had Chicken Marsala — she knew that was a favourite of his with broccoli, sweetcorn and new potatoes. For dessert they'd had hot apple pie with ice cream. He made sure she ate dessert along with him — he wasn't going to be the only one piling on the pounds. And that he was…he was sure he was returning to his weight before the Expanse. She'd laughed at his protests about weight gain and told him it suited him.

He'd cleaned up after dinner — he felt obligated, especially after she'd slaved for several hours in the kitchen. She'd thanked him, taken a glass of wine with her, and retired to her room to watch Love Story.

He'd smiled at her choice of film. They'd been to see it together at a local cinema in San Francisco on their second date. Like many of the women present she'd ended up in floods of tears and had forgotten to take any tissues with her. Jonathan luckily had a few in his pants pocket and offered them to her after spying the flowing tears down her cheek and hearing the muffled sniffs. He hadn't blamed her — it was a classic tear-jerker and even he could feel a slight lump in his throat near the end.

But it wasn't a film he could watch over and over again — he didn't see the point of depressing yourself repeatedly. Once was sufficient. So when Rebecca had said she was going to watch it tonight, he'd declined her invitation to watch it with her.

He wasn't able to concentrate on his book as his mind kept wandering back to his earlier conversation with Admiral Forrest. He felt dissatisfied. Excuses about the line not being secure, telling him to enjoy his vacation and they'd talk about it on his return — it wasn't good enough. Didn't Forrest get it?

Maybe he didn't. He'd feel differently if it had been him — if he'd been the one staring the Illyrian captain in the face trying to explain. He'd never forget the look in the alien captain's eyes.

"What you can't have...you take by force? You're stranding us three years from home!
Why are you doing this?

The only reply he'd had for him was that he had no choice. Recalling it now it sounded lame. Had there been another way? Could he have tried something else? Maybe he should have asked the captain to take him to Degra, instead of stealing the engine. But then there would have been the risk of him saying no…

He could ponder over it endlessly, but it wouldn't change what he'd done. Even if he came up with alternate options now, what was the use? The deed was done…there was no going back.

He got off the sofa and went over to the computer. He'd do a little research on the neighbouring islands, maybe that would get his mind off the Illyrians. He'd called the marina office after speaking to Forrest and reserved a sailing boat for tomorrow afternoon.

The Mamanuca Islands caught his interest, but they'd probably be too far to visit by boat. It would be more sensible to visit those via shuttlepod. The island of Beqa looked a lot closer and he estimated they'd make it there and back within an afternoon.

He heard Rebecca's bedroom door open and glanced up. Her eyes were red and a little swollen.

"I guess the movie's over?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I don't know why I torture myself."

"Not gonna say I told you so."

"Just did, didn't you?"

"Sorry."

She walked over to him and glanced at the computer screen. "What you been researching?"

"Where we might sail to tomorrow."

"Beqa looks close by."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"If we'd rented the boat for the whole day you might have been able to fit some snorkelling in."

"Sailing in itself sounds relaxing."

She smiled at him. "How you feeling?" He'd appeared a lot calmer today than the last two days. As bad as the nightmare had been, maybe it had alleviated some of his stress and tension. At dinner he'd been positively pleasant, showering her with constant compliments on her cooking. He'd even cracked a joke or two. It was like being with a different person.

"Okay."

"Did you still want those sleeping pills tonight?"

"Yeah…that would be great."

She returned to her room to retrieve the pills.

"Here you go." She handed him the bottle. "You can take two, though I think one will do the trick."

"How many do you normally take?"

"Just the one. I took two once but felt really sleepy the next day."

"Okay, thanks."

She sat down on the couch and sighed.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"I guess…just a little melancholic and contemplative. Movies like that always do that to me."

"Yeah."

"You remember my favourite line? I can't seem to get it out of my head."

He nodded. He remembered their discussion of it the first time they'd seen the film together.

"You still disagree with it?" she asked.

"Love means never having to say you're sorry," he quoted. "Sounds like romantic spiel intended to tug at the heartstrings."

"Maybe…it's a nice concept," she mused. She put her feet up on the coffee table and crossed her legs. "Jon?"

"Yes?"

"What about you and Maggie? Wasn't it like that for you two?"

"You're romanticising."

"Am not — you told me she was your first love and how at the time you couldn't imagine living without her."

"I was a romantic fool in my younger days."

"So you've become a cynic in your old age?"

"Let's just say age and experience have taught me to be realistic."

"Nothing wrong with having romantic notions, Jon."

"Romance is great for novels and movies. Real life isn't that way."

"Hmm…I guess you had no expectations for us, then?"

He'd hoped the conversation wouldn't take this turn. "Rebecca, you really want to talk about this?"

"Sure, why not? You're not going to hurt my feelings. It's all in the past. You and I had a lot of fun together, but we both agreed that it wasn't going to go anywhere and we'd be better off as friends — it was a mutual decision. I'm just curious what your thoughts were when we first met."

"Okay — I thought you were a knockout, funny, charming, intelligent and I enjoyed your company."

"Thanks for the compliments," she smiled, "but did you go in with any expectations?"

She patiently waited for his answer. After a few seconds he answered.

"Honestly? No. After Maggie — well let's just say I didn't believe in the whole happily ever after scenario for myself. And you know how it was — I ate, slept, dreamt my father's engine. There wasn't much time for anything else."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Jon, it's okay. I think I knew it anyway going in. But you were still worth taking a chance on."

"You thought you could change me?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Well a girl has to have her dreams, you know," she smiled at him, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Right…guess I did a first class job of shattering them."

"Oh don't be so serious! I'm not made of porcelain. And I wasn't some naïve 20 year old." She stood, walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I don't regret a moment we shared together, Jon. And for that I thank you." She bent down and kissed him gently on the lips.

He looked up at her, surprised.

"Jon, do me a favour, okay?"

"What?"

"Don't give up on romance. Cause you never know, there might be someone out there who will tolerate the changeable moods and those bad habits of yours."

He shrugged his shoulders in a defeated manner, seeming unconvinced.

"If you want my opinion, well I think there's a certain member of your senior crew who—"

"Rebecca—" His tone was a warning to steer away from that topic.

"Okay, okay, I won't say anything."

He knew she meant T'Pol and he was not going to have this conversation.

"Let's talk about your love life for a change," he suggested.

"Not much to tell."

"What about that guy in Rome?"

"Patrizio?"

"Yeah."

"Oh that was short-term. Can't do long distance relationships."

"Robert?"

"He got married after the Xindi attack. I guess you heard there were a lot of weddings…people getting married left, right and center."

"Heard it was catching."

"Yeah," she laughed. "It was kinda disease like."

"Who did he marry?"

"His secretary."

"Hmm…"

"Well I guess after I said no so many times to him, he asked someone who'd say yes."

"You never told me he proposed."

"Didn't I? Oh I thought I did in one of the letters I sent you while you were in the Expanse. Maybe you didn't get it. I never knew if you got any of the correspondence I sent."

"I got a couple letters…thanks. Never had the time to answer."

"It's okay."

He glanced at his watch and decided to retire for the night. It was a little after 11pm, and though it was still early for him, he hadn't slept last night and hoped to make up on a few lost hours. "I'm gonna turn in, take one of your pills and hopefully hit the hay."

"Okay, Jon. Sleep well."

She watched him walk into the bedroom and smiled to herself. She cared for him a great deal and she wanted him to be happy. She hoped one day he'd allow himself that — he deserved it.

T'Pol was awoken by a strange sensation which was decidedly unpleasant. Her eyes flew open to discover Porthos had jumped up onto the bed and had literally licked her awake!

"Get down," she scolded. The pup was frightened by the stern voice and went to cower in the corner. He was confused — this kind of behaviour had usually garnered a pat on the head or his ears getting rubbed.

T'Pol got out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. She splashed cold water onto her face and then vigorously began applying soap to her face. The idea of having Porthos salivate all over her was…to put it mildly…repulsive. She scrubbed her face for several minutes; until she was satisfied that every atom of Porthos' saliva was washed away. She rinsed her face and then applied a little face cream.

Re-entering the bedroom she noticed the quadruped huddled up in his basket. He looked frightened. She felt sorry for him — he obviously missed Jonathan, and hadn't expected such a reaction. He was probably just hungry and wanted to remind her it was breakfast time.

It had never happened before because she was usually up at the crack of dawn, and she'd been the one to wake the dog by calling him for his breakfast. Glancing at the clock she noted it was already after 8am.

She went over to Porthos, crouched down and stroked his head. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm sorry. But the bed is off-limits, at least until your master returns."

T'Pol suddenly realized she was talking to a quadruped who possessed no language skills — something she would have scoffed at a while back. Whatever she said he wouldn't understand her. Hopefully though he'd remember her stern voice when she'd chided him for being on the bed.

She straightened up and walked into the kitchen, encouraging Porthos to follow. She prepared his breakfast and changed his water.

She turned the kettle on to make herself some tea. Opening the fridge she noticed she was running low on supplies and would need to go shopping today. She cut up a few slices of melon for breakfast, and brewed some Darjeeling tea. She remembered the brand from when she'd sampled it at the tea-room in Golden Gate Park when she'd been with Jonathan, and had purchased some. That had been a pleasant day.

If he'd stayed…maybe he could have shown her more of San Francisco. She missed him, and she hated feeling that way. He didn't deserve to be missed! Her only consolation was that he'd never know.

She sat down and sipped her tea. Today she wished Vulcans reacted to caffeine. She was feeling a bit sleepy and she could do with a pick-me-up. Inaprovaline would do the trick but she'd need to contact Phlox for that and then explain that she'd neglected to meditate last night…and she wasn't in the mood for twenty questions.

After failing to discover any connection between Johnson and Archer last night, she'd turned her attention to a more serious matter — the Illyrians. She'd become engrossed in star charts from the Expanse and had tried to map out where they might be at this time.

She knew they were travelling at impulse power, so she'd attempted to calculate the shortest route back to their homeworld. It had been around two months since they'd attacked the Illyrian ship and crew. They wouldn't have got far. If Forrest gave the go-ahead to contact the Xindi and pursue a rescue mission, she wanted to have at least some idea of the ship's location.

So she'd stayed up till after 3am, pouring over the information she gathered and making her calculations. By the time she'd realized how late it was she was too sleepy to meditate and relegated that task to the morning.

Now she felt groggy and out of focus and knew why. Hopefully it would pass after she had her shower, meditated and took Porthos for a walk. Yes, she was certain the fresh air would do her some good.

She finished up her breakfast, showered and got dressed. She then took her mat from the bedroom, placed it on the living room floor, crossed her legs and attempted to center herself.

Instead of relaxing her mind began to wander. She thought about going to the park — perhaps Dr. Johnson and Bailey would be there again. And she could ask him about Jonathan. Her curiosity was getting the better of her — her search last night had been fruitless, she wanted to know more.

As her and Jonathan had become closer she'd been interested in learning more about him — the man, not the captain. But he rarely spoke about himself or his private life. She knew a few facts here and there that he'd casually tossed her way — his friendship with A.G., dating a girl called Caroline, liking water polo and having a pet. He'd told her his father had given him an astronomy book on his 8th birthday — but that was about it.

During one of her neuropressure sessions with Trip they'd been talking about Archer and Trip had mentioned the captain's interest in poetry. T'Pol had been intrigued and asked him if he knew what kind of poetry Archer enjoyed. Trip shrugged his shoulders, answering that he'd never enquired. He only knew the captain liked to read it, and that his mother used to read him The Tale of the Wandering Angus to help him sleep. She'd listened with interest and after the session had logged onto the Starfleet database and read the poem for herself.

She opened her eyes and acknowledged that she wasn't going to achieve a meditative state. Best to take Porthos for his walk now — maybe she'd run into…well one never knew who might be out with a certain black Labrador.

T'Pol returned from the park feeling tired. Porthos had been so full of energy; he'd worn her out. She had a job keeping up with him. To her disappointment there'd been no sign of a black Labrador or his owner.

Porthos seemed to have expended all his energy — he took a few laps from his water bowl and padded into the bedroom for a nap.

T'Pol made some lunch and then sat down to write a shopping list. Satisfied that she hadn't forgotten anything, she slipped a jacket on and checked her reflection in the mirror. Of late, she'd had the habit of brushing her hair forward to cover her ears. It was easier this way. One she didn't want to be bothered by people asking for autographs or thanking her for saving Earth. Secondly, she was aware that there was an anti-alien feeling amongst a few humans — she'd heard about some trouble Phlox had experienced a few nights after they'd arrived back in a local bar.

Shutting the door firmly behind her, she walked down the corridor towards the elevator, checking over her list.

She normally went to the store a block from the apartment. It stocked most of what she needed — fruits, vegetables and salad ingredients. She'd hoped to find a health store nearby that might sell some of the items she needed to make plomeek broth, but nothing had turned up as of yet in her explorations. She'd probably need to make a trip down to Fisherman's Wharf to the store where she'd originally bought them.

She entered the store and took a basket; there was no need for a trolley. She proceeded to the aisle with the fruits and perused the melons on offer.

"I hear the cantaloupe's on special offer."

She looked up to discover where the voice was coming from and found herself face to face with Dr. Steve Johnson, smiling at her.

"Is it?" she answered. "I was unaware. Thank you." She picked up two cantaloupe melons and placed them in her basket.

"My pleasure. Nice to run into you again, T'Pol. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"And Porthos?"

"He is in good health for a canine. And Bailey?" she added, remembering to be polite.

"Energetic as ever."

"I spoke to Jonathan yesterday," she told him.

"Mention me?"

"I relayed your message."

"He didn't remember me did he? Suppose I can't blame him, it's been a while."

"Actually he said he did — that you were an old friend." She thought that sounded better than acquaintance.

"Did he say anything else?"

"About you — no."

"So where's he vacationing?"

T'Pol didn't see a reason why this should be a secret, he was a member of Starfleet so she trusted him. "He's in Fiji with a friend."

"Hope he's enjoying himself."

"I presume so. Dr. Johnson?"

"Please, call me Steve," he smiled.

"Do you mind if I ask how exactly you know the captain?"

"Curious, huh? Sure I don't mind. Why don't we go for a coffee and I can tell you all I know about Jonathan Archer."

All he knew? This was intriguing. "I don't drink coffee."

"Well I'm sure there's a brew of tea at the café across the street that you'd find palatable. What do you say, T'Pol?"

"I could meet you there in ten minutes. I just need to finish purchasing a few items."

"Sounds good to me. See you there." With that he strolled off, looking pleased with himself.

T'Pol completed her shopping, paid for the items and then crossed the street to join Dr. Johnson.

TBC