T'Pol was walking again, troubled by the limitations of the fabric and the fog. Sight was restricted, and sounds muffled and distorted by the heavy, moist Terran air. She had been concerned before her illicit departure, as she had no reason to be prescribed the nasal numbing agent typically given to those traveling among humans –
"Nasal numbing agent?! Why the hell would you need something like that?"
The voice had not entered her life until after the altercation to come, which logically meant that she was dreaming. Still, she had wished to respond to this particular Terran. There had been no opportunity in reality, but here, in dreams, perhaps –
"You gonna think about whether to answer me until you wake up, pretty lady, or just do it? And how about telling me about this 'altercation' you're remembering, while you're at it?"
"I am dreaming. Any answer I would give would be only to myself."
"And yet you answered me. Not very logical of you –"
"I assure you –"
"Don't bother. I like that you're not very logical about things like jazz clubs, dreams – and me. So, how about it? We're talking anyway, so why not answer my questions?"
"Humans have an odor that is unpleasant to Vulcans."
"You think we stink?"
"I find your personal scent –"
"What?"
"Pleasing."
"That so? Well, I like yours, too. Like sandalwood incense in an orange grove. But don't think I forgot about this 'altercation' of yours, pretty lady."
Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that this man who had followed her back to the Consulate was persistent in this, as well. "I was approached by five inebriated human males. When I attempted to circumvent them, they grew forceful. It was necessary to neutralize the threat they posed."
"'Neutralize the threat?' What exactly do you mean by that?"
T'Pol considered, then opened the memory to him. It was only a dream; there was no breach of protocol in sharing what had happened in this manner. More, it was far more detailed than any description she could give verbally.
He shared the experience with her, then was silent for a moment. "I'll be damned," he said, at last. "All this time I've been trying to figure out who really did it, and it was you. Not that I blame you. I hate to think what would've happened if you didn't do what you did, but –"
"I believe their intent was to engage in sexual activity with me, and it didn't matter whether I was willing to participate."
"Wasn't sure you picked up on that. I'm glad you did, though – if you're going to be walking around the streets of San Francisco late at night, it's good that you know not everyone you meet is going to use their manners – especially when they've had a few too many. Still, you taking those drunken lechers out means I have a hell of a problem."
"How so?"
"They said I did it. Not that I'm capable of that, and even if by some fluke I got lucky, no way could I have done it with your finesse. They must've wanted to cover for the fact that a woman took them out because they were planning to rape her. But they've got an eye-witness, and I don't even have an alibi. I lost my job over this and might even end up in the stockade."
T'Pol woke suddenly and blinked until her eyes adjusted.
It had only been a dream.
But, if it was, why did it seem more vivid than the last several days?
And if it was not, if it was something more, was she responsible?