Redemption

Chapter 21

Rebecca noticed that Jonathan seemed deep in thought as she put the key in the ignition. She didn't wish to bother him with a load of questions and left him to his thoughts. He was probably exhausted after the adrenaline rush. She placed a music disc of something classical in the player and started the car.

They entered the house and he mumbled something about taking a shower. She took off her shoes and went to the kitchen to get a cold drink. She poured herself a glass of cranberry juice depositing several ice cubes into it and was about to go out onto the deck when she heard a call coming through. She answered it.

"Rebecca, I thought I'd have heard from you by now. Just tell me you're on top of the current situation."

"Peter? What are you doing calling at this hour?" It was her editor and if her calculations were right it was after 2am back in San Francisco.

"Becca, I want this story on the front page — tomorrow's edition. So you better get your butt in gear and get writing, cause it's gonna be a long night. This story is hot news and you're writing the exclusive."

If he was referring to the Archer exclusive well he wasn't going to get that, though she hadn't told him that yet. However, he'd given her two weeks in Fiji to get it, why was he in such a rush now?

"I was under the impression I had more time."

"Where's Archer?"

"He's in the shower at the moment."

"Well you damn well better have the exclusive Rebecca, that's why I'm paying you the big bucks. You were at the scene right? I have to say I'm surprised you didn't call me first — why'd I have to hear this on another news service I'm sure I don't know."

Another news service? She had no idea what he meant and requested clarification.

"Don't you dare pull this! You are not selling this to some sleazy tabloid for double the price. So don't try being coy."

She was completely baffled by what he was saying. "Mind spelling it out? I haven't a clue what you're babbling about."

"The beach incident — it happened less than an hour ago and I'm already getting calls about it. Some waiter at the local restaurant witnessed the whole incident, recognized Archer and phoned it in to his local paper, and the story is already circulating. Archer saved some young boy from drowning. Where have you been all evening? Aren't you with Archer? That's what I'm paying you for!"

"Oh that." Hmm…Jonathan wasn't going to be pleased.

"What do you mean oh that? This is front page stuff! Do you know how fast that Starfleet captain of yours sells newspapers?"

"He's not my captain."

"Whatever. I'm just saying you damn well better get the interview and have it on my desk within the next two hours. This is too good to pass up — Earth's hero saves boy from drowning. Okay?"

"I can try, but he's not gonna want the publicity."

"Do you think I care what Archer wants? Use your wiles on him, wrap him around your finger…whatever it takes – I want that story!"

With that the conversation was over and the screen went blank. She sighed. What was she going to do? Could she convince Jonathan to give her an interview? From the sounds of it her job was on the line and if she didn't produce the goods she might find herself on the unemployment line.

Jonathan joined her at this point. "I have some news you might not like," she announced.

"Oh?"

"I've just heard that your rescue story is making the news."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I'm sorry, Jonathan."

"You heard it on the TV?"

"No."

"Then how—"

"My editor from San Francisco just called. He's already heard about it."

"The story reached the States already? I can't believe it. It only happened about an hour ago."

"What can I say Jon? News travels fast. And with the kind of fame you attract nowadays — well you're very newsworthy."

"I thought at least here I wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense. In San Francisco it was expected. Believe me being hounded by reporters every time you try to walk inside Starfleet HQ really makes you resent the entire news organization and anyone associated with it."

She stood up and joined him by the patio doors touching his arm. "I do understand and I sympathise. But Jon, I could really do with your help."

"In regard to what?" he asked, seemingly puzzled.

"I'm in a jam and you're the only one who can get me out of it."

"Oh boy, let me guess? Your editor wants an exclusive?"

"Something along those lines."

"Rebecca, I already told you I wasn't going to give you an interview."

"Jon, this is different. I'm not asking you to reveal top secret Starfleet missions, only to talk about saving the Atkins boy. Is that really so much to ask?" She didn't think it was.

He looked as if he was thinking it through.

"What's the big deal? I mean it could have been anyone. It was pure coincidence that I was there."

"Yes, but you were there. And that's what makes it newsworthy."

"Doesn't make sense."

"I know…but still…will you Jon? For me?"

"You know I loathe the idea of more publicity, but I guess I do owe you this. You've put up with my crap for this last week and been a great friend." He paused then said, "Okay, I'll do it."

She hugged him in response and thanked him.

"There's a condition attached however."

"Okay, shoot."

"I need to call the boy's family up and make sure it's okay with them. They might not want to be named."

"I'm fine with that," she replied.

"I'll just give them a quick call." He sat down at the computer terminal.

The Atkins family were more than happy for Rebecca to do the interview, as Jon informed her after he'd finished talking to Jeremy Atkins. Apparently he'd already been contacted by two reporters, but out of respect for Archer's privacy hadn't corroborated the story.

So Rebecca got her exclusive. She sat with Jon in the living room for an hour, making notes on her laptop while he answered her questions and then put a story together. She let him read the first draft before sending it to her editor.

"Sounds fine," he said.

"Good! I'll tweak it a little and send it off. I'll tell Pete I'm gonna meet the young Atkins boy tomorrow, and if the parents are in agreement, I can do a small piece on him. That should butter him up enough, so when I get back to San Francisco he won't fire my sorry ass for not getting the Expanse exclusive from you."

"I had no idea my refusal would put your job on the line."

"Okay, well maybe I'm exaggerating a bit," she smiled. "At least this will soften the blow."

"Hope so."

She reread the concluding paragraph of the interview and moved a few words around. She glanced up at Jon who seemed to be staring into space. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem lost in your own thoughts."

"I guess I am. It's been a long day." He sat down next to her on the couch. "You know at one point I almost gave up. I thought he wasn't going to make it. I thought I was doing it all wrong. He just lay there, lifeless and I imagined having to tell his parents he was dead." He paused, taking a breath.

"Rebecca, I don't think I could. I don't think I can ever tell another parent, brother, sister, husband or wife that their loved one is dead. It's supposed to get easier the more you do it. That's such a damn lie. It doesn't."

She gripped his hand and felt him tighten the hold. "How many did you lose, Jon?" she asked in a whisper.

"Too many. God, it was awful. All those body bags in Sickbay and I couldn't do a damn thing! All the negotiations in the universe weren't going to bring my dead crewmembers back to life. I'd sit in my Ready Room trying to think of something comforting and sympathetic to tell their families – how they'd died defending Earth and all that spiel. My words felt utterly hollow and meaningless. How could a letter like that comfort anyone?"

"It's hard to find the right words in these kinds of situations. I'm sure you did your best," she said trying to offer him some comfort.

"I did what I was trained to do. There's a class in Starfleet that's supposed to prepare you for this. Only it doesn't tell you how inadequate and helpless you'll feel. And how the guilt will almost consume you as you realize if it wasn't for your orders these young men and women would still be breathing."

She could hear he was starting to get choked up.

"My orders, dammit! I sent them to their deaths."

"And would it be any different if you'd died because of an order given to you? I'm sure Admiral Forrest would feel the same. It's part of the job, Jon. It comes with the territory. Your crewmembers knew what they were signing up for."

"How can you look at it in such a calculating fashion?" he asked bitterly.

"I'm not; I was attempting to make you feel better."

"Well don't."

"Okay, I'm sorry." It appeared that she'd managed to upset him yet again. But his nerves were raw – he couldn't help it.

"Listen, I'm going to bed," he told her. "I'm spent, emotionally and physically."

"Okay, I understand."

"Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"I need to rebook my flight, since we're having dinner with the Atkins tomorrow. Can you book me on a Thursday flight instead?"

"Of course. Any particular time?"

"I don't mind. Anything's that's available." She nodded. "Night, Jon."

"Night."

He shut his bedroom door behind him and she turned her attention to the interview on the laptop. She read it through a few more times; editing bits here and there and when she was finally satisfied sent it through to the San Francisco office. She sighed with relief; Pete would get his exclusive after all.

T'Pol and Porthos were out walking in the direction of a nearby park when something caught her attention. Glancing across the street, she thought she saw what looked like Jonathan's photograph on a small billboard outside a store. Next to it were written the words "Earth's Hero Saves Boy While on Vacation". She crossed the street and went to investigate.

Her eyes had not deceived her. The store was selling copies of the San Francisco Globe and Jonathan was the main headline. She entered the store, leaving Porthos outside for a moment tethered to a street lamp. She purchased the paper copy of the newspaper, though a handy computer padd with the full edition was also on offer.

Her eyes scanned the front page: exclusive interview with Enterprise's Captain by Rebecca Summers. She continued to read about how Jonathan had saved an 8 year old boy's life.

Captain Archer, a proficient swimmer in his own right, and the holder of several medals for water polo, is the epitome of modesty. He told me, "It's no big deal; I don't know what all the fuss is about. I was at the right place at the right time; that's all. It could have been anyone. I'm just glad I could have helped."

The article went into detail on the incident explaining that Jonathan had jumped into the water as soon as he'd heard cries for help and how he'd resuscitated the boy out at sea in an inflatable dingy. She raised an eyebrow as she visualized this scene. It certainly sounded like Jonathan. It was also a newsworthy article — the paper would be pleased with their sales today.

How did he feel about all the extra publicity? He must have consented to the article, after all Rebecca had penned it. His notoriety would go up a few notches now; maybe he'd stay in Fiji a bit longer just to avoid being harassed upon his return to San Francisco. Though she imagined the story must be all over the islands by now — he was probably some local celebrity there.

She returned to Porthos and untied him, continuing to walk towards the park. Entering the park she set Porthos free to run around and stretch his legs while she seated herself on a bench and perused the rest of the article.

Porthos came to see her at the bench with a stick in his mouth, dropping it at her feet. She was accustomed to this familiar ritual by now. She picked it up and threw it for him. This occurred several times until the canine was bored with it. She reattached the lead to his collar and they strolled around the nearby lake. Convinced that Porthos had received sufficient exercise for today they headed back to the apartment.

She'd just shut the door behind her in the apartment when a call came through. She dashed to the viewscreen, thinking it might be Jonathan. When Admiral Forrest's face appeared, she felt a tinge of disappointment.

"Good afternoon, Admiral."

"T'Pol, sorry for not getting back to you sooner — I want to let you know that I'd spoken to the Starfleet council about your proposal regarding the Illyrians."

"They declined?"

"Not exactly. Before I go into that — have I heard correctly about Jonathan? I'll admit I'm a bit out of the loop. I've been in my office trying to catch up on a stack of reports and my secretary tells me she heard something about Jonathan on the news."

"I believe the news reports are correct, Admiral."

"He seems to have a knack for attracting the news, doesn't he? I bet he won't be able to get off the shuttle when it lands in San Francisco without being hounded by reporters."

"That is indeed a possibility."

"Have you heard from him, T'Pol?"

"He contacted me last night, but I was out so he left a message. He was merely enquiring about his dog. He said he'd call back."

"Okay. I hope he's enjoying his vacation even with the new fame."

T'Pol wondered what was going in Fiji. Could he go out on the beach without being stopped by locals and tourists asking for autographs? Could he go to dinner without being bothered? Was he all right? How was he dealing with all of this?

"As for your request," Forrest continued, "well I'm afraid I got mixed reactions from the council. A few of them are rather hesitant about requesting help from the Xindi, and the rest didn't feel we had the resources to send a ship into the Expanse looking for the Illyrian crew. They were, to put it bluntly, not of the opinion that it was worth the time and effort in trying to accomplish what they felt was an almost impossible task."

"Should I take that to mean no?" She was disappointed but if she was honest with herself she hadn't anticipated a different response. At least she'd tried, she told herself in consolation.

"They agreed to give it some more thought and when we reconvene next week we'll discuss it further. But I thought I should let you know, I don't hold out much hope. Sorry."

"Thank you for trying, Admiral. Your help is appreciated."

Forrest ended the call by saying he'd keep in touch and keep her updated on any developments. She turned off the computer terminal and checked the time. It was just after 1pm. She toyed with the idea of calling Archer…it was only 8am in Fiji; he might not be up yet. Perhaps she'd call him later.

Porthos had eaten what was left in his bowl and gone to lie down in his basket for his afternoon siesta. T'Pol changed out of her clothes into something loose fitting and set up candles and a mat for meditation. After meditating she'd make some lunch. Right now, she needed to calm and center herself.

Jonathan lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He'd been awake for the last hour after waking up from one of his weird dreams. In it he'd re-enacted yesterday's incident with a few changes.

The frantic swimming out into the ocean to save the young boy, diving down into the dark ocean depths looking for anything, a flash of clothing, a head of hair – all of that was the same. But the dream differed in that he'd needed to surface for air several times. On the third time he noticed that his mother was the one sat in the dingy, her eyes red and swollen from crying. What was she doing there?

"Did you find him?" she asked. He shook his head in response. He knew he'd have to swim down to the bottom to find the boy. Taking the deepest breath he could muster he propelled himself into the water and into the dark watery abyss.

It took almost a minute to get to the bottom and there finally he found what he'd been looking for. Lying on the sandy seabed was the body of a young boy who looked to be around 8 or 9 years old. He picked him up carefully from the ocean floor and swam with urgency to the surface.

In the next scene he was walking onto the shore and he placed the boy gently on the sand. Leaning over him he blinked in disbelief. How could this be? Was his mind playing tricks on him? It wasn't possible! Lying before him was a much younger version of himself – Jonathan Archer at 8 years old. Fear gripped his soul. He started to breathe into the boy's lungs and continued for several minutes but to no avail.

"It's too late, Jonathan," he heard a voice he'd know anywhere. "You can't save yourself. It's too late."

Jerking his head upwards he saw his father standing over him and the boy. "I can," Jonathan protested. "You're wrong. I can save him."

"That part of you is dead, Jon. You killed it, remember?"

"Nooo!" he protested. "Don't say that!"

"You said you didn't care…that you wouldn't let your morality get in the way. Are you having a change of heart, son?"

"I didn't mean it. I didn't know what I was saying," he protested. "Help me, Dad."

"I can't help you retrieve your innocence, Jonathan. It's gone…forever. In the same way you can't bring back to life the drowned corpse at your feet."

"But he's me; he's who I was once. I can't have destroyed that."

"You crossed the line, Jon. You made choices. You can't undo them now. Better to face facts and move on."

"I didn't have a choice! I was backed into a corner."

"If it makes you feel better to say that, Jon."

"What would you have done, Dad?"

"I'm not here to appease your conscience, Jon."

"I don't know what to do, I'm so lost."

Henry shrugged his shoulders at that statement. Jonathan turned his attention back to the younger version of himself and started CPR once more. He had to save the boy, correction, he had to save himself. There had to be a way to find that part of him he'd lost.

After several minutes he realized there was no hope and acknowledged defeat. He slowly stood up, feeling a great heaviness in his chest and a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. He looked around but there was no sign of his father.

"Jonathan." A voice full of warmth and comfort addressed him.

He turned his head and saw T'Pol standing before him. She held her hand out to him. "Let me help you. Come with me."

"You should go."

"I am not going anywhere without you."

"Don't you see? I'm poison! Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the dead body. "I did that. I killed him. I killed me." He was fighting to hold back the sobs.

T'Pol approached the boy and crouched down to him. She placed her hand over his heart and his eyes flickered opened. He sat upright and when T'Pol offered her hand stood up with her help. He smiled at her asking if he knew her. "Not yet," she explained, "but one day you will." She told him to go home to his father.

Jonathan watched his younger self walk off into the distance. "I don't understand."

"He was only sleeping."

"But—"

"Trust me, he wasn't dead."

"T'Pol?"

"The person you were before the Expanse still exists. Believe that."

And then he'd woken up.

He'd spent the last hour mulling it over, trying to decipher the images presented to him. It seemed his subconscious was trying to tell him something: that he wasn't such a bad guy after all. Or was it just trying to make him feel better? He sighed not knowing the answer. Maybe he should tell Rebecca about it – she was much better at this psycho-analysing sort of thing. It was puzzling how the dream had started out dark and then with the appearance of T'Pol had turned positive.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe that just going back to San Francisco and spending time with T'Pol was going to make everything all right. She would agree with him on that point and kindly suggest he seek professional help again. Perhaps that was the answer, though he loathed the idea. How could he open up to a stranger? Some people found it easy to bare their soul, but not Jonathan Archer. He found it hard to open up to friends.

Friends…suddenly he remembered that Steve Johnson had studied psychiatry. Was that his speciality now? T'Pol hadn't mentioned it. He recalled Steve mentioning that was his interest years ago. Would he want to talk to Steve? It would be weird, but it might be a kind of compromise. Steve wasn't a complete stranger, but he didn't know him that well either. Hmm…the idea still didn't appeal to him. Besides what would talking it out to Steve or any other mind doctor do? Getting it off your chest was supposed to help, but in this case Jonathan didn't see how. He could talk till he was hoarse, it wouldn't save the Illyrians.

So what was he supposed to do? Concentrating on the aliens he'd stranded might be a start. He needed to speak to Forrest and see if there was some way a rescue could be mounted. Maybe T'Pol could help in that area and it would be a way for them to work together, if she was willing.

His thoughts wandered back to the Atkins boy. When he'd spoken to his father, Jeremy, last night he'd enquired as to how he was. Jeremy had assured him that his son was well — the docs at the local hospital had checked him over and he was none the worse for wear. Jonathan Atkins had been a lucky lad. It could easily have turned out differently. He wondered how he'd ended up in the water in the first place. Perhaps he'd lost balance. He could ask him this evening when he joined the family on their yacht.

While he felt bad about most of the stuff he'd done in the last year, this one incident was positive. He'd saved a life. The people of Earth felt indebted to him for saving Earth, but that didn't give him satisfaction. Besides he wasn't solely responsible for that – many people had played their part in that outcome – many had lost their life in pursuit of it.

It was almost symbolic — in rescuing the young Jonathan he'd felt like he was rescuing himself. Ever since returning to Earth he'd felt plagued by the guilt over the Illyrians. He'd slowly been drowning in that guilt, sinking deeper and deeper in his own figurative ocean. T'Pol, Phlox, Rebecca and Forrest had all attempted to bring him back to the surface, but he hadn't wanted to. He'd had no reason to resurface.

For the first time since returning to Earth he actually felt good about himself. He'd saved a young man's life — if he hadn't been there on that beach at that precise moment Jonathan Atkins might not be alive. And that knowledge made him feel good about himself.

Maybe that's why the dream had ended on a positive note. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He felt confused — he was doing a lousy job of impersonating Freud. He should write it off as his conscience releasing stress. And he'd probably dreamt of T'Pol as he was eager to see her and looking forward to their reunion. In a way his dream was telling him that if he was with her he'd feel better. That was easy to believe – she'd always made him feel better. She'd rescued him plenty of times literally and figuratively.

He only hoped she'd be pleased to see him and that he somehow could patch things up between them. Would she forgive him for his previous behaviour?

She'd forgiven him over the Illyrians even after the outburst in his Ready Room. He'd never seen her angry before and been quite taken aback by her smashing the padd across his desk. But she'd made her point, and it had fed his guilt and spurred his conscience into reminding him that if he did this he'd have to live with it for the rest of his life.

Yet later that evening, after the raid, she'd come to see him and been nothing but sympathetic. It was late at night and he hadn't been able to sleep. Every muscle in his body ached. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes from shutting but he knew that lying down on his bed would be more painful than standing up, especially after the beating Dolim had given him the previous day.

His ribs cried out in protest every time he inhaled or exhaled. His head throbbed like someone was pounding nails into it. His wrists were sore, the skin peeling around the area where the restraints had held him and rubbed them raw.

He knew he could contact Phlox who'd administer enough pain meds to knock him out for the night, but he didn't feel he deserved it. He took the pain as part of his punishment. As he watched the stars warp past his window he was conscious of the fact that they were being powered by something that didn't belong to them. His abdomen ached – his gut was knotted up from the stress of the raid and now the accompanying guilt.

It was just after midnight when he'd heard someone at the door. He assumed it was either Phlox coming to check on him and administer medication or Trip, another insomniac who would make some excuse about wanting company, when in truth he was checking up on him.

When he answered the door and found his first officer on the other side he was more than surprised.

"Captain, I realize it is late, but—"

"Come in, T'Pol," he invited not wanting to leave her standing in the corridor at this time of night.

When he noticed her eyes on his naked torso, examining the various bruises, he felt self-conscious and put a T-shirt on.

"You must be in pain, Captain," she noted.

"It's worse than it looks." He'd tried to make light of it, wishing she hadn't seen his injuries.

"You should have let Phlox examine you earlier."

"He had more serious patients to attend to."

"Yes, but you could have gone back later when he'd treated those."

"I'm fine, T'Pol."

"You don't need to lie to me."

"What makes you think I am?"

"You are always putting on a brave show, acting as if everything is fine, when in truth, you don't believe that at all."

"Would you rather I go to pieces in front of the crew?" he snapped, then regretted it. "I'm sorry, T'Pol."

"No apology necessary. We are alone; there is no need to pretend."

"Oh, okay. Then I admit I'm in pain, but I'll live with it."

"Because it's a form of penance?"

There were times when she rendered him speechless with her intuition. How was it that she read him so well? He couldn't hide a thing from her.

She walked over to the window where he was standing. Taking his hand in hers she examined his wrist. "You were in restraints?"

He nodded. "I could get some ointment from Phlox if you wish."

"There's no need," he said. "But thank you," he added. He wondered what she was doing here. Since entering the Expanse he'd barely had a moment alone with her – their friendship seemed a thing of the past. From what he heard she spent her off-hours with Trip.

"If you need to talk about what happened—"

"The Illyrian ship or my run in with the Xindi?"

"Both."

"What about you T'Pol? You were in a stressful battle. Who do you talk to?"

"I meditated this evening, as you suggested."

"Did it help?"

"A little, yes."

"But not entirely?"

"One cannot simply erase the stress of such events with one evening of meditation."

"Agreed," he said. "In the same way talking about the Illyrians or what occurred on Azati Prime is not going to make it all go away for me."

"I see. I was under the impression that humans found it therapeutic to open up to a friend."

He sighed and stared out the window. "Are you my friend, T'Pol?"

"How could you doubt that, Captain?"

"Oh I don't know. That little incident in my office today…you're not obligated to like me or my decisions, T'Pol. There's no rule that says first officer and captain have to be best buddies. And I would understand if your opinion of me of late has gone down several notches."

"I acted unprofessionally earlier today, Captain. I was overwrought, suffering from lack of meditation and sleep and not thinking clearly. I apologize."

"I'm sorry I made you do something against your conscience." It was bad enough that he'd done it, but he'd forced T'Pol, Malcolm, Trip and the rest of the crew to do something that probably turned their stomachs. He'd never forget the look on Reed's face when he'd first relayed to him his orders.

"Captain, at the time I was more concerned about your conscience and it seems my fear was not unfounded."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe you are more troubled by your actions than you thought you would be."

"Perhaps." He turned to face her. "Was there something specific you wanted to see me about, T'Pol?" he asked, being curious about her visit and what had initiated it.

"I wished to see how you were."

"Oh."

"As a good friend would."

He didn't feel he deserved that. "I appreciate the concern."

"And you are wrong about me disliking you. Vulcans do not make friends easily, especially amongst other species. But once they do they are loyal for life."

Her words warmed his heart. He'd missed her and their talks, the quiet evenings they used to spend together. Why had he permitted their friendship to wane? Why hadn't he fought for it?

He allowed himself to look into her eyes…warm and welcoming. She was the picture of serenity and beauty. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms – to make the pain and guilt go away, albeit momentarily. But he dare not. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable and he couldn't deal with rejection tonight.

He was startled when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She rarely touched him. He'd been surprised when she'd held his wrist a few moments ago. "If I can be of any help, Captain—"

"I'll let you know," he cut her off. It was probably best that she leave before he did something stupid and made a fool of himself.

"I don't mean just as your second in command. I would like to be there as your friend, if you'll let me."

"I won't forget. Thank you, T'Pol."

She bid him goodnight and left. He sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands. "If you only knew…" he muttered under his breath.

He'd never taken her up on the offer of friendship. After meeting up with Degra things moved at a faster pace than ever. For the most part he ignored the physical pain from his injuries. And he didn't have time to think about the emotional pain his actions brought on. His mind raced, trying to out manoeuvre the Xindi Reptilians and make one last attempt to save Earth. It wasn't till he'd returned to his home planet that his conscience and guilt had caught up with him.

He felt hungry and decided to go make some breakfast. He tip-toed into the kitchen, mindful not to make too much noise as he assumed Rebecca was still asleep. It was only 7am.

He made himself some coffee and toast then checked the computer to see if Rebecca had changed his booking to San Francisco. She had, and he was scheduled to take the flight to San Francisco tomorrow at 2pm local time.

Tomorrow he'd see T'Pol, he'd get to talk to her, hopefully get a chance to apologize and explain. He smiled to himself at the thought of seeing her. And it would be good to see Porthos; he'd missed his beagle pal.

For today he'd have to play Captain Archer to the Atkins family and their children, but tomorrow…tomorrow he was going home and he hoped to make a fresh start.

TBC