Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 15

April 12th, 2154
11:23 p.m.

Jonathan Archer was standing out on the deck of the house, taking in the view of the night sky. Now that the rain had stopped, the air was cool and fresh. He had been trying to sleep, but no matter what he did, he just could not find a way to get comfortable. Listening to the waves crashing on the beach below reminded him of going camping with his family. He had always slept soundly in a tent, listening to the wind soughing through the trees. Looking around at the deck, he thought: why not?

It took him about ten minutes to gather everything he needed and then he was back out on the deck with a sleeping pad and bedroll, courtesy of StarFleet survival gear. He didn’t even see her until the screen door rumbled in its track. He looked up to see T’Pol looking at him curiously–at least he assumed she was curious, it was kind of hard to see in the moonlight.

“Thought I’d do a bit of camping,” he explained sheepishly. When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Don’t Vulcans go camping?”

“Vulcans must survive in the desert alone when they undergo the KasWahn ritual. However, the last time I went camping with humans, the Away Team tried to kill me,” she pointed out.

“Ah, well, there’s no hallucinogenic pollen in the air around here, you should be safe.”

“Are you inviting me to join you?” He hadn’t really intended to invite her, just reassure her that he wasn’t going to kill her in her sleep and told her so. She sounded a little disappointed at that.

“If you want to join me out here, you’re welcome to.”

She disappeared from the doorway, not having given him any indication as to whether she was coming back or not. He was just about to crawl into his sleeping bag when she returned, arms full of gear. Once he helped her get settled, they lapsed into an awkward silence, each coccooned in their own sleeping bag, staring at the stars.

“T’Pol,” he asked, shifting to face her in the dark, “Do you ever regret going into the Expanse?” It was something that had nagged at him from time to time.

“Vulcan would have been annihilated as well if Enterprise had not succeeded in her mission.”

“That’s not really what I asked you.”

“The question has no relevance; there was no other choice.” Jonathan sighed, Vulcans, always missing the point.

“It changed us,” he said, “all of us.” He rolled onto his back again and stared up at the stars, and space. “I was just wondering if you regretted that.”

“That is not the same question,” she pointed out. He heard her shift on her sleeping pad, probably turning to look at him, but he couldn’t tell in the dark. “You changed as well.”

“I know,” he said, quiet. “That’s why I asked.” There wasn’t really a way to accomplish the mission without having it change you–he just wasn’t happy with some of the changes he saw in himself.

They lay there in silence for a long time, listening to the surf on the beach and watching satellites go by. He was just starting to drift off to sleep when she asked him if he dreamed about the decisions that he made out there.

“No, that’s what I think about when I’m awake.”

“Are they about when you were gone?” They had never discussed what had happened to him while he was being held by the Xindi. There hadn’t been time to talk about it then, he certainly didn’t want to talk about now.

“I’ll sleep better if we don’t talk about it,” he said curtly. He rolled over, facing away from her, to emphasize his point and then thought better of it.
“Do you ever have bad dreams, T’Pol?” He thought a moment and then answered himself, “No, of course you don’t. Vulcans don’t dream. Must be nice,” he said enviously.

“I do feel the effects of the Expanse,” she said quietly. They lapsed into silence, both curious, but neither willing to share in order to satisfy their curiosity. “Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“Sweet dreams.” She still managed to surprise him once in awhile.

“I’ll try. Where’d you learn that, anyway?”

“Trip.”

“Huh. Trust Trip to say that to someone who doesn’t dream. G’Night T’Pol.” It didn’t occur to him until after he had rolled over that there weren’t that many occasions for his Chief Engineer to wish his First Officer ‘sweet dreams’. It was something he preferred not to think about. He had tried to ignore the rumours floating around Enterprise too, but it was difficult to unknow some things.

“T’Pol?” he asked, wondering if she was still awake. There was an affirmative noise from her bedroll. He had almost forgotten about the Vulcan at the grocery store: “What does ‘pekh’ mean?”

There was a hesitation and a rustle of fabric as T’Pol popped her head out of the sleeping bag.

“It means feces. Why do you ask?”

“I heard it used to describe the taste of broccoli.”

“Crude,” T’Pol admonished, “but likely accurate.” She disappeared into her sleeping bag again, clearly considering the conversation over.

“Likely? Chef has served broccoli before, you know what it tastes like.”

“Yes, but I have not tasted actual pehk,” was the muffled reply. The image of T’Pol telling Chef that his food tasted like shit was so clear in his mind that he was overcome with laughter. T’Pol wisely chose to ignore the crazy human on the deck with her.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t buy any then,” he said, when he could speak again. There was no answer from T’Pol, who clearly did not want to encourage the conversation. It took him a while to get to sleep, especially since every time his mind wandered somewhere dark he would revisit the thought of T’Pol and Chef which would prompt another fit of laughter which he tried to muffle with his pillow. When he finally did fall asleep, he did not have a nightmare.

Next