Dinner between the two was quiet, and she noticed at several points during the conversation, her mind wandered. Even when they sat on the couch talking, her focus was frazzled and at one point he called to her several times before she realized he'd said anything at all. Awkwardly, she apologized – which he took in good spirits – and the two ended their evening with him adding pillowcases to her bed, after fluffing them, and pointing out a nightlight in the room so she "didn't stub her toe."

The moment he left and she turned out the light, she meditated. But, for the most part it was fruitless. Just as serenity was in her grasp and her thoughts had quieted, she swatted away bliss and flung open her eyes.

Perhaps I should sleep.

Even slumber wouldn't come. She lay awake thinking of tomorrow, meeting admiral and after admiral and attending a gala that, in all honesty, she didn't want to be at much less the guest of honor. She also pondered her failings in the Kolinahr. It annoyed her – an emotion – but she reviewed those failings almost daily.

Ten steps. A mere ten steps toward enlightenment were all that awaited her: eschewing the mundane, calming the mind, achieving distance and perspective, accepting relativism, valuing truth, acting with integrity, determining purpose, realizing thought, acting judiciously and embodying peace.

In truth, the priest found her difficult because she couldn't get past the second step: calming the mind. The theory was essential to meditation, vital to the Vulcan culture and significant to her personally. It was a humiliating defeat that she could not hush her own mind.

Laying in the dark on an overstuffed bed, she heard Jonathan's gentle snore.

He's asleep.

The moment she'd heard his grumbling about Soval's replacement in Gardner's office, she had the urge to hug him, and felt a small amount of relief that he initiated the contact. When his arms wrapped around her and his cheek, scratchy thought it may be, touched hers, she felt a little easier. And when she felt him smile against her face, his embrace tightened.

Something about him was comforting; something about him had always been comforting – like an old blanket. It's why she'd accepted his invitation to stay here.

Maybe there was another reason. He was a connection to Trip. Every day, while at the sanctuary, she reflected on her life. Instead of seeing the mist of white surround her – nothingness - she saw Enterprise. When she thought about Enterprise, she thought about Archer. When her mind lighted on Archer, Trip sprang forth and wrecked her concentration. He wouldn't leave her thoughts.

Not just him.

His final moments wouldn't leave her thoughts.

Although she hadn't witnessed his amazing sacrifice, she relived it several times over from the tales she'd heard others tell – Trip bartering for Archer's life and his last words before he fell into the final sleep.

She hadn't been there for a goodbye; at the instant of his death, she was busy ordering security to take any survivors – of which there were none – to the brig. In Archer's haste to save Trip, he'd neglected that duty.

Duty.

Being on the bridge as Trip breathed his last breath was a pitiful way to remember her comrade and once lover. The instant hardly did him justice and left her feeling unsettled. Unresolved.

The events after were a blur – packing his belongings, arranging for a time to meet his parents, arriving at a hotel and attending the funeral. The only moment that made any of it real, was spending the foggy haze of grief with her friend … her captain. Somehow their hurt, the one they shared together, made it more bearable.

Suddenly realizing hours had passed, she listened for the familiar sound of snoring and heard none. Looking up, she noticed with a start that he was at the door.

"Sorry, I took a chance that you couldn't sleep either."

"Something the matter?"

A groggy voice responded. "I had a dream."

Lumbering in – wearing a Starfleet shirt with a few holes in it and a pair of shorts – he sat heavily at the end of her bed. She let the covers fall around her waist and sat up.

"I dreamt you had something to tell me," he said, scratching his head. "It was something important."

She hesitated. "Your dream, perhaps it was prophetic."

"I knew something was wrong. You've been quiet tonight."

Nodding, she produced a sigh and then stared up at her previous commander.

"Emotions, they are difficult sometimes for me to understand. I feel, but I sometimes have no frame of reference … nothing to compare it to. Vulcans don't speak of these things."

"It's always difficult, even when you can compare it to something else and talk about it."

"Trip's death has been difficult for me."

"I know."

"Was it difficult for you?"

"Yes. I find myself reliving it sometimes, wishing I could change things …."

He became silent and stared down at his own lap.

"But, it appears you have been able to put it into perspective. Continue on successfully."

He shrugged and gave a sad, ironic smile. "I don't think you ever put 'death' into perspective. I think you simply … accept it."

"Do you feel a fire in your stomach an emptiness that seemingly knows no end -- as if you'd sacrifice yourself to simply be with him again? Do you recall conjuring the smell of him or trying to remember the way he laughed?"

"You feel that way?"

"Yes," she said.

"Sounds like you were in love with him."

She eyed him for a moment and felt her eyebrow slant up in a question.

"That's what it feels like, T'Pol. That's what romantic love is." His eyes remained on her, unfaltering.

"You've felt romantic love?" she asked. The question was awkward and he shifted only slightly.

"I've made you uncomfortable," she said.

"No, we just haven't talked about this before. Have I felt romantic love? Sure. It's hard to find a human – male or female – who hasn't. It's part of the human condition."

"You've felt sorrow and grief unending? Like a veil or a cloud that has enveloped you? Is that part of love?"

"Yes."

Watching him, she shook her head. "Jonathan, will this always be with me?"

"The sorrow? No. It'll fade, just give it time."

When it became silent, he pushed his form off the bed. Just as he did, she realized she had more to say.

"I failed the Kolinahr."

Shock displayed on every muscle in his face. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"The priest at P'Jem expelled me. He said that I couldn't focus … that I was unable to concentrate."

"I find that hard to believe."

Dropping her chin to her chest, she spoke quietly. "No, he was right. He was right about that, and he was right that I'd never be able to shake the need to experience emotion."

"He said that?"

"And much more."

Glancing up, she saw a frown on his face.

He said, "There's nothing wrong with emotion. Even Vulcans feel it; Surak did."

"I couldn't get past the second stage of enlightenment."

"You said it sometimes takes years … a lifetime."

"The second stage is something that even children excel in."

"I don't think--"

"Every moment I was in the temple, while others were in quiet reflection, I thought about Enterprise. Almost longing for it."

"Listen--"

"I spent hours in meditation wondering what would've happened if he hadn't died. Days thinking about him and his death."

"T'Pol--"

"T'Pau was right. Being with humans, feeling what they feel, it's my path. And I can't stray from it even if I wanted to. Even if I need to. Because I can't stop feeling."

"It's okay," he said. His hand almost touched hers.

"This has never been a problem, even when my mother perished. Why can't I stop? What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you. Just give it time. It'll subside."

Shaking her head and on the verge of tears, she maintained just enough composure to will the drops in her eyes not to fall. In the whirlwind of emotion and thought, she almost missed what Jonathan had to say.

"Margaret Mullen," he whispered.

"What?"

"I was crazy about her. I even …," he said. Looking out into the open window toward downtown San Francisco, he continued. "I asked her to marry me. I knew she was the one. You know, the one you want to wake up to every day. The one."

T'Pol waited. So far the story, and why he chose to bring it up now, was confusing.

"She turned me down." He kicked his foot against the beige carpeting. "She said she didn't love me enough, well she didn't say that, but that's what she meant …."

He looked back down at her.

"I went on with my life – you don't really have a choice. For a year or so I walked around like I was in a fog. Graduated from Starfleet, got a choice assignment. I should've been having the time of my life. Yet … nothing really felt like it mattered."

"Yes. What did you do?"

"Oh, I blamed myself on a failed relationship. You know, I worried that I'd focused on Starfleet too much … I'd spent too many hours talking to her about starships and I'd canceled too many dates."

She furrowed her brow.

"I blamed myself that she didn't love me. I examined all the things that were wrong with me and kinda came to the conclusion that no one would ever love me again. But, after a while I realized it wasn't my fault and that life was too short to be depressed. I also realized if she said 'no,' that she wasn't meant to be the one."

She was silent.

"You're not to blame for what happened with Trip … or that things didn't happen with Trip," he said.

Her eyes met his.

"And … I know the two of you were friends. I know it. In his own way, he loved you, too."

"I don't know that."

He smiled. "I do. Besides, what's not to love?" His smile broadened. "And as far as the Kolinahr, well, it always seemed dumb to me."

"Thousands of Vulcans participate each year."

He shrugged. "A bunch of Vulcans throwing chairs to purge emotions. And that's just for the first three months, right?"

Taken aback a little, she agreed. "They don't simply throw chairs."

"Okay, yelling, tossing statues, breaking chairs …. That doesn't sound silly to you?"

"It sounds like thousands of years worth of retooling and revising a program that has ensured the Vulcan way of life. It sounds like how thousands of Vulcans successfully rid themselves of emotion."

He smiled. "Usually I go running to purge emotions."

Her lips flattened, but a smile formed in her eyes. "I remember."

"I bet you do."

Looking down at the bed, she searched for something to say that would convey her gratitude.

"Jonathan, I'm sorry for--"

"I'm not. Get some sleep."

As he turned on his heel, she called after him. "Wait. What happened to Margaret?"

"Huh?"

"The young woman you asked to marry you?"

"She has a husband, two children in their teens and is a second grade teacher in Laguna, California."

"Life turned out well."

"I'm sure there have been a couple of days when she wakes up next to the insurance salesman she married, and wonders what would've happened if she'd married me."

"Do you wonder what would've happened?"

"I guess every now and again. Margaret is … in a way … always with me. Trip is always with me. And Trip will always be with you."

He pointed to his forehead. "He's here." And then he pointed to his heart. "And here. And examining your emotions in this case won't help. Love is … highly illogical."

"Emotions always are," she said. He chuckled at her joke.

"You can hold onto people you care about, and move on at the same time," he said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I didn't come to Earth and accept the position of ambassador with the sole mission of sharing this with you."

"I know. I'm sure you'd fully intended to stuff these emotions down and pretend they didn't exist."

For a second, she wondered if he was mocking her and then his lips tugged up at the corners.

"I'm glad you shared this with me," he said. "I feel honored."

Laying back on her bed, she nuzzled her head into the pillow, hoping she'd get a few hours sleep before breakfast.

"And don't worry about tomorrow. Should be a piece of cake."

She didn't respond; it didn't make sense to discuss her agitation about being in a crowd with people who waited to hang on her every word.

As if reading her mind, he responded. "You'll be fine tomorrow night," he said.

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Listen, why don't you stay here as long as you need. Weeks, months – it's okay."

"I don't know--"

"Until you settle in. Until you find another place."

"It's a generous offer, but--"

Archer ducked his head. "I'll give you plenty of space. Hell, I'm hardly ever home."

"There is sufficient space in here."

"I mean – time alone."

"I don't want to be an imposition."

"I wouldn't ask if you were. Besides, Porthos could use a friend. I don't get to see him much these days."

Having a place … something that was a transition … would be helpful. Although she'd never felt quite at home on Vulcan, adjusting here would take some time. And, she conjectured that having a friend available would most likely help. It certainly had tonight.

"I accept."

"Good." He smiled and walked out the door.

TBC