maytakecenturies | OO8

[The first few days, T'Pol refuses to leave the Barge. It's Earth, it's twenty-first century Earth and thus everything T'Pol never wanted to see. There is no scientific curiosity, she tells herself, that could convince her to go out among those monsters. This is the century of First Conquest. This is the century that the T'Plana-Hath will land in Bozeman, Montana in peace only to have its crew gunned down by the unpredictably violent Humans. She paces her room and grinds her teeth and wonders how far that date is, how many years until - or since - Vulcans attempted first contact. Have the crew's bodies been autopsied yet?

Eventually, that's what brings her off the Barge. She has to know how close this world is to April 5th, 2063.

She doesn't speak the languages: Earth Standard became English before its third World War, and T'Pol has never had occasion or reason to learn French. She knows pieces, mostly picked up as unexpected transference from the occasional mind-meld. That is what she does once her feet are on solid ground again: it would be easier to use her newfound abilities to connect her PADD to a news network, but it is more satisfying to corner a Human in a back alley, to leave sloppy traces in her thoughts, fingerprints on her brain that this century - this species - will never fully understand. What is one Human to her?

She gets the date: it will be more than half a century before the T'Plana-Hath lands. And that is when the idea begins to form.

T'Pol passes another day considering; in the end, she decides, there is no decision at all. The answer she arrives at is the only possible answer. The Admiral made the mistake of giving her his abilities. She will use them to protect her people from Humanity.

The Enterprise was constructed at Jupiter Station, but Jupiter isn't settled yet. Not even the moon is settled yet, and T'Pol cannot wait for technology to catch up. She doesn't have to. Somewhere above the Kármán line, well out of Earth's atmosphere, a fully functional starship suddenly exists. It seemed a simple act, a thought made real, but it takes its toll as all things must. She slumps against a space of empty wall, ignoring the buzz of an active Parisian street around her to get lost in the buzzing in her head. Her head still tilts up, looking in vain for something too far for even her eyes to see.

Later, much later, when she's recovered enough to move (to remember the point of all this, to save Vulcan), T'Pol takes herself to the ship and sets a course. She takes the captain's chair, revels in the silence of a ship empty of Humans, and promptly loses consciousness.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It just happens that Gene's passing - heading off to meet up with Snaf again - when T'Pol finds herself slumped against the wall. He's reluctant to touch her - he remembers what happened during that mistletoe infestation, and he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable - but she looks very, very out of it, and he can't see any evidence of some Admiral thing being responsible. She's an alien, right? Maybe she's having a bad reaction to something she ate.

Anyway, Gene (wearing civilian clothes and not his uniform, for once) comes over and stops, far enough away to give her plenty of space and him room to move if she gets pissed.]

You alright, ma'am?

[He looks wrong, she realizes. Dragging her gaze down from the sky, T'Pol stares at him mutely for a long moment. He looks....wrong, and it's a long while before she realizes that it must be the absence of uniform.

It's a long while before she even realizes where she is, and once that hits she blinks a few times, as though that will clear her head. It doesn't.]

Private Sledge.

[If he's no longer in uniform, is he still a Private? Can she still call herself Lieutenant Commander? Does she want to? Rather than ponder those answers, T'Pol struggles to rise to her feet.]

I'm fine. [It's not a lie, it's a wish. Either way, it's untrue.]

[It's something he's thought about too - is he still Private Sledge if there's no Marine Corps here? does he even want to be? - but there's more important things to focus on. Like how he's supposed to help her if he's not certain he's allowed or wants to touch her, considering he wouldn't be surprised if it ended in him getting his hand broken or punched in the stomach.]

Can I help you up? [He asks, trying not to sound uncertain.]

[She still hears the uncertainty, if distantly. Her mother explained it to her, once: Vulcans try to subdue their emotions at all times, but that does not make them immune to emotions around them.

T'Pol grew up in an occupied ShiKahr. She understands uncertainty.]

Yes.

[It's testament to whatever these abilities are doing to her: he's right to be concerned, because she would never accept help like this, from someone like him. If she's weak enough to need help standing, then she is easy pickings.

But she holds out her hand, steeling herself as she always does when physical contact is imminent.]

[Well, at least it's Sledge who found her, because he's not going to be taking advantage of her condition to try and do her any harm. Instead, he actually doesn't take her hand, reaching instead for her wrist and stooping to help her up.

(He remembers what had happened when she'd grabbed his hand before, and he's not looking to do that here, or make her any more uncomfortable than she has to be.)

Once she's got her feet under her, he stays close, but doesn't try to force her into leaning on him unless she wants to.]

[On Enterprise, she knew who was best to run into, and when. She knew when Phlox was frustrated by a dissection project and likely to take it out on a patient; she knew when Sato was frustrated with the Captain and prone to manipulating crewmen into breaking codes of conduct so she could punish them; T'Pol knew to always avoid Major Reed, for his xenophobia never cooled.

She knows she could do worse than Gene, in the part of her mind that is still thinking logically and struggling for clarity. When he takes her wrist, she is greatly relieved; her hand closes around his forearm, and she lets him pull her up, swaying once she gains her feet. Her equilibrium is shot, but her pride keeps her from using him as balance. She steps back to lean against the wall instead, keeping her eyes on him.]

You'll keep this quiet. [It's a request, even if it doesn't sound like one.]

I won't say anything, [He promises with zero hesitation. Part of it might have to do with the fact that she sort of intimidates him, but the rest is just genuinely him wanting to do right by her, and if she doesn't want people to know, he won't say anything.

He doesn't move any closer, and doesn't try to help her lean back, even if he sort of wants to.]

I've got some water, if you want some.

[It makes sense, for what character she's seen him display thus far, but it doesn't make sense to the part of her that expects blackmailing and cruelty from everyone she meets. That she knows how to combat: T'Pol can be cruel, she can be brutal. She doesn't know how to be kind, or how to accept it.

Something tells her this should be easier than it is.]

I do. [She's wary, knows she should expect it to be poisoned, but would he be capable of that?]

[Nope. Not at all. Gene reaches carefully for his bag, trying to make it clear as can be that he's not actually going to go for a weapon while also trying to keep casual. He'd brought his canteen with him because, well, honestly? He always has one on him. Always. He'd left the sidearm and KA-BAR behind, but he really couldn't let go of that.

At least it's not in short supply and sharing isn't going to mean going thirsty later.

He uncaps the canteen and hands it over, half wondering if he should offer to drink some first to prove it won't hurt her.]

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