Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 27

April 16th, 2154

“I don’t believe you.”

In the midst of her meditation, T’Pol opened her eyes to see Jonathan standing in the doorway of her bedroom. He had said very little to her, aside from what was strictly necessary, since their return from Nutka Island. It wasn’t so much that he was ignoring her, as he did not or could not find anything to say to her.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Jonathan’s tone wasn’t angry–as she expeted–though she detected an underlying hurt; it was mostly concern that she read on his face.

“Vulcans do not lie,” she said calmly, rearranging herself into a different meditation position. It proved to be an overly optimistic move on her part–Jonathan entered her room determined to pursue the conversation.

“I think we’ve known each other long enough to know that isn’t true.” He held her gaze unwaveringly until she became uncomfortable and averted her eyes. This was not a conversation that she wanted to be having.

“What is it that you believe I am lying about?”

“The other day when I asked you why you did it, you said that it was curiousity,” he said, not quite managing to hide his opinion of her professed motives. “Like I said: I don’t believe you.”

He sat down on the floor beside her, an immovable obstacle to her continued meditation. T’Pol sighed, and refolded her legs in a more comfortable position. She noticed Jonathan frown as she did so, and arched an eyebrow at his look.

“You never used to sigh.”

“Perhaps my time among Terrans has corrupted me,” T’Pol shot back, irritated at her own lack of control and the fact that Jonathan knew her well enough to notice.

“Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “Look, I didn’t come in here to start a fight. I just want–I need–to understand what prompted you to, uh, do what you did. We still need to work together.”

T’Pol looked thoughtful at that. He waited for her to speak and was surprised to notice the emotions that flitted across her face. They were subtle, but they never used to be there at all. Was he just getting used to her, or was it something else? His musings were interrupted by her response.

“I don’t believe that will be a problem.”

“Oh you don’t?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Look you may be able to act like nothing happened but it’s not that easy for me.”

“You misunderstand me. Do you remember the night that Phlox operated on Porthos?” He cringed internally, remembering his behaviour and his conversations with both Phlox and T’Pol about his issues with his First Officer.

“Yes, I do,” he said carefully, hoping that his was a lot more impassive than it felt. T’Pol watched him closely but he had no idea what she saw anymore than she seemed to be aware of what he saw on her face.

“Do you remember our conversation in your Ready Room the next day,” T’Pol asked, intent on his response.

* * *

“Whatever friction there’s been between us I’d like to try to minimize it,” he had told her in his Ready Room.

“Friction is to be expected whenever people work in close quarters for extended periods of time.”

“I guess that’s always been true. Especially when the people are of the opposite sex.”

“Then it’s good that you’re my superior officer. That we’re not in a position to allow ourselves to become attracted to one another–hypothetically. If we were, the friction that you speak of could be much more problematic.”

* * *

“I remember. Why?” He frowned, uncertain of what that old conversation had to do with his First Officer giving him a blow job on the side of a mountain.

“The friction has become more problematic,” she said simply, pointedly refolding her body into the third meditative pose, intent on returning to her meditation.

“T’Pol,” Archer said, frustrated at the conversation, “I know it’s more problematic; my question was why.”

She stared at him as if her were simple. “You are no longer my superior officer.”

“What?” She didn’t repeat the statement. It had occurred to her that he might have already known, but his reaction told her otherwise–he had been completely unaware of her transfer.

“I have been allowed to join StarFleet, however the Vulcan High Command has insisted that I remain planetbound for six months to ensure . . . that I am certain of my decision.”

“They can’t do that; the Vulcan High Command has no say over StarFleet personnel decisions.” T’Pol simply raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if he had already forgotten how she came to be on his ship to begin with.

“What exactly did they say?”

“That diplomatic relations would be irreperably harmed if StarFleet did not grant them this favour.”

“Why? Surely they’re not that worried about your mental health.”

“It is not for my benefit. It is a lesson to others who would disobey the High Command.”

“The refits of Enterprise are going to take–”

“3 months, at most,” T’Pol cut him off, knowing that he was trying to figure out how to delay Enterprise’s launch even though they both knew that it could not, should not, be done. “I have been assigned to the Columbia.”

“Oh you have, have you?” T’Pol raised an eyebrow at this expression of discontent, but said nothing.

“And you’re ok with this?” he said, searching her face.

“You already know the answer, and it is not relevant.”

“So that’s it then?” he asked in disbelief. “You give up; you let them have their way?”

“Jonathan, there are some battles that cannot be won.”

“We fought the Xindi, T’Pol. Don’t tell me we can’t change a transfer order,” he said desperately.

“There were no rules when we fought the Xindi,” she reminded him. She saw him flinch and realised that he thought that there had been, and that he had broken them at great cost. “Jonathan, there are rules to be followed–”

“I don’t care.” The stubborn set of his jaw reminded her of him when they had first met and he had refused to take any of her advice. Hopefully, some things did change.

“You should care,” she said evenly. “Enterprise needs her captain.”

“They wouldn’t–”

“They could.” She saw his eyes full of pain and wondered how much of it was of his own making and how much of it she had caused, “Perhaps it is for the best.”

He ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration that she had seen many times before. “Why didn’t you tell me about your transfer before?”

“Not everything I do is logical.” She held his gaze steadily, but he got the feeling that they weren’t talking about her transfer any more.

“It used to be.”

“I was curious, Jonathan.”

“You could have satisfied your curiosity with anyone, T’Pol. What with all the neuropressure you were doing on Trip, I’m sure he would have gladly satisfied your curiosity.” He knew before the words had finished tumbling out of his mouth that he had gone too far. He had never seen T’Pol angry before, but the flush of her cheeks was definitely a reaction. He stormed from the room angrily before he could do any more damage. It wasn’t until several hours later when he was playing the scene over in his mind for the hundredth time that it occurred to him that the flush might have been embarrassment. He was suddenly beset with a sickening certainty that he had come closer to the truth than he had intended to.

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