Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 18

The path up the mountain became unkempt several hundred metres up: overgrown branches, rotted boards where there had once been walkways over more precarious footing, and narrow passages. From the looks of it, the path was one of the old walking trails that the girls’ grandfather had spoken of. For a long time they hiked in silence, focussing their attention on the hazards of the trail.

After about twenty minutes, Jonathan stopped and looked back over his shoulder. T’Pol was picking her way along the trail behind him. Her head was down, intent on watching her footing. There was something different about the way she carried herself. He couldn’t put his finger on when it had changed. Truth be told, it could have started anytime in the last year and he would have missed it. There had been more important things on his mind, things that could not wait. Whatever it was, it had been getting better, until she had been attacked in Vancouver. Even then, she had almost managed to shrug it off. Until that comm call the other day. Ever since then she seemed uncertain of herself in a way that he could not quite pin down.

T’Pol looked at him quizzically when she reached the spot where he was standing. No doubt she was wondering why he had stopped. She paused a moment and then continued past him when he didn’t take the opportunity to say anything. Jonathan sighed and followed her for a time before broaching the topic.

“Are you going to tell me about that comm call the other day?” If he hadn’t been watching her, he would not have seen the slight hesitation in her stride before she recovered.

“Which comm call?” She asked casually.

“The one that upset you.” She stopped and turned to face him at the same moment that he looked down to navigate the roots of a tree that were sprawled across the trail. When he looked up, he was almost on top of her.

“Vulcans do not get upset,” she said stiffly. She held her ground, even though he was in her personal space, before turning and continuing on her way.

“I thought they didn’t lie either,” he said mildly. Or get angry.

“No,” she said, as they reached a clearing at the top of the mountain. They could see most of the island below from this vantage point.

“No?” He asked, distracted by the sight of the pier.

“No, I do not want to tell you about it.”

Something wasn’t right. If the pier was there and the glassworks was there–.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” He looked again, just to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. Now why the Hell would they do that?

“Jonathan?” T’Pol was looking at him uncertainly. She obviously hadn’t seen it yet. He pointed to the base of the mountain. The glassworks was about three hundred metres from the pier. The girls had taken them in the opposite direction, almost all the way around the island.

“Perhaps they were confused,” T’Pol offered.

“Yeah, maybe.” I doubt it. The old man could have easily given them directions yet instead he had chosen to ask his granddaughters to guide them the other way.

They chose a different path to go down the mountain, one that descended in the direction of the pier. They hadn’t made it very far before it started raining. Spotting a small shelter at the side of the trail, they ducked inside as the rain intensified.

The shelter was small. Looking around Jonathan guessed that at one time it had contained a biomass composting toilet for hikers but it looked like that had been removed decades ago. The shelter was empty aside from the leaves and dirt that had been blown in by the wind over the years. The roof had several holes and the way that the wind was blowing the driest spot was under the overhang by the narrow doorway. T’Pol stood in front of him as they peered out at the driving rain. After it became apparent that the rain wasn’t going to let up any time soon, he couldn’t help but notice that he could feel the heat of T’Pol’s body only centimetres in front of him. A shift in the wind caused the rain to blow toward them. T’Pol backed up to stay dry, pressing herself up against him.

“Maybe we should find another way to keep out of the rain,”� he said, trying to figure out a way to disengage himself from T’Pol without getting either of them wet in the process.

“Why?”� she asked, oblivious to the discomfort that she was causing him. “Are you getting wet?”�

“No,”� he said, trying to think of water polo, or star charts, or anything at all that would distract from the fact that her backside, among other things, was pressed up against him as they stood under the meagre overhang.

“Are you uncomfortable?”� she asked.

“Yes,”� he said with relief, thinking that she was giving him an out.

“In what way?”� she asked quietly.

“What?”� He tried to remember the score in the last match of last year’s water polo finals.

“I asked you in what way you were uncomfortable,”� she said, making no effort to move. Well, making no effort to move away. He wasn’t sure but he thought she might be trying to get closer to him. Not that it was possible. Or probable.

“Does it matter?”� he asked exasperated and running out of water polo matches. He stepped sideways and pulled her back so that they were standing beside each other. Much better, even though his right shoulder and pant leg were now getting soaked. At least he had avoided the imminent problem of her becoming aware of exactly in what way he was uncomfortable having her pressed up against him.

“Is that more comfortable?”� she asked, raising an eyebrow as she followed the water dripping down his shoulder.

“Yes,”� he said emphatically. She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

“It’s not as dry, but it’s more comfortable,”� he clarified.

“I see.”� They stood there in silence for a while watching the rain pour down. Archer was getting increasingly wet . . . and cold. T’Pol hugged herself, starting to shiver.

“Is physical contact with a Vulcan so distasteful to you?”� she asked quietly, trying to sound uninterested and failing. Distasteful. Now that is a problem that I could handle. Things had been much simpler when he still hated the sight of her.

“It doesn’t bother me, it’s just . . . well, you might have found it uncomfortable if we’d stayed that way much longer,”� he said trying to figure out how to explain it without embarrassing himself, or her.

“I was not finding it unpleasant,”� she said turning to face him. He was about to say something else when she added, “Vulcans are touch telepaths, that is why it is considered rude in Vulcan society to touch someone casually.”�

“Is that why it’s considered rude?”� He asked, “I always thought it was something else.”�

“Such as?”�

“Not deigning to touch another species?”� he joked lamely. “I don’t think I ever gave it much thought,”� he said more seriously. They stood in the rain and watched it pour down in awkward silence for a few minutes.

“Touch telepath. What does that mean, exactly?”� He asked with a little trepidation, wondering if she was as oblivious as she seemed.

“I can feel surface emotions when I touch someone,”� she said, looking out at the rain. “That is why it is unpleasant to be touched by someone who is not in control of their emotions, such as anger,”� she added.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, remembering a number of occasions when he had grabbed her arm in anger, and sorry for it now. “What if they aren’t angry?”� He asked, “What if they’re just uncomfortable?”�

“That can be pleasant, depending on the person,”� she replied, still staring out at the pouring rain. He couldn’t see her expression, well what passed for a facial expression on a Vulcan, as he looked down at her out of the corner of his eye.

“If you knew I was ‘uncomfortable’ then why….”� he trailed off, asking himself silently why she hadn’t moved.

She turned to face him, and said simply “I found it pleasant. I did not want to move.”

“Oh,”� he said, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. Or breathe. She stepped closer to him. She pressed up against him to keep her back out of the rain.

“You’re, uh, you’re making me uncomfortable again,”� he pointed out, not that she would have trouble figuring that out, as close as she was.

“I know,”� she whispered, a shiver running through her. Without giving it much thought, he brought his arms around her to keep her warm. She moved closer. He didn’t know about her, but he was definitely warming up. Well, that doesn’t leave anything to the imagination, he thought, trying to shift his position discreetly. He was still trying to figure out how they had ended up in this particular situation when she kissed him. Or did he kiss her?

He wasn’t sure which it was. She was looking up at him and her lips were close to his and then they were on his and then they were kissing. Gentle exploration turned to passionate need as they explored each other’s mouths. They were both breathing heavily when they came up for air.

He should have pushed her away then. Stopped it then. But he didn’t. Instead he asked her what she was doing. She didn’t have an answer for him. She just looked at him with those liquid brown eyes until he forgot that she hadn’t answered his question. After a moment he even forgot why he had bothered to ask. He briefly considered the possibility that he was having a very vivid dream. It wouldn’t be the first time. He pinched himself. Hard. He was definitely awake.

“Did that also make you uncomfortable?”� She asked casually.

“Can’t you tell?”� He thought his voice sounded hoarse as she tilted her hips against his. He slid his hands down her back, holding her against him. He closed his eyes, just wanting to feel her pressed against him, her body heat searing him wherever their bodies met.

“It would appear,”� she said, her own voice husky, “that you are very uncomfortable.”� She unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her hands under the fabric and over his bare chest. After a long moment her hands moved down to his jeans. Everywhere her hands touched his skin blazed. He bit his lip, trying to distract himself from her touch, to regain his senses.

“T’Pol.” She ignored him, her hands working at his belt. He felt it loosen.

“T’Pol!”� She stopped and looked at him curiously. “Why are you doing this?”

“Do you want to stop?”� It was difficult to concentrate considering what her hands were doing.

“That wasn’t the qu–”� He lost his train of thought completely as his zipper was lowered. He looked down to see that T’Pol was using her teeth. “You know. You’re making it really hard–”

“I can see that.”� Her hand stroked him as she pulled his jeans down. He could feel her hot breath as she knelt in front of him, his discomfort blatantly exposed. Her mouth was almost painfully hot. Almost, but not quite. He tried to make it last, her tongue teasing him relentlessly, but it was too much to ask of himself. Afterward, she moved away from him. He tried to look at her, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she looked up at the sky.

“It has stopped raining. We should go,” she said, suddenly all Vulcan again.

“T’Pol,” he said, bending down to pull up his pants, “that was . . .” He looked up, but she was gone. He caught a glimpse of her back heading down the trail. He called after her a couple times, but either she didn’t hear him or she was ignoring him. Damn it! He buttoned up his shirt, taking the time to make sure that he was decent before heading down the trail after her.

Next