Whadda Woman

Whadda Woman

By superninja

All characters belong to someone other than me. Follows the latest episode with the Vulcan Monks.

To anyone who says Vulcans don't have emotions, I say, "bullocks." They have emotions - they simply control them. The beauty of fan fiction is that *we* get to decide when they lose them J

***

Archer had to laugh to himself.

Not aloud, of course, but every time he glanced over at T'Pol, he was sure she could see the shining laughter in his eyes, and merely narrowed hers, as though issuing a challenge.

He settled back into the Captain's chair, and looked out at the stars advancing towards them and whisking past as they sped along at Warp speed. Contemplatively, he put a hand under his chin, and leaned into his seat.

He had wanted confirmation of her loyalties back in the Temple. That was all. She was a Vulcan, surrounded by Vulcans, who were protesting the use of violence against the Andorians in retaliation. She had proven herself when isolated from the rest of her race, but he wasn't so sure where her loyalties would lie when Vulcan interests were at stake.

The argument had started between them when he had offered to share his blanket in the falling temperature, and she had reluctantly agreed. He had a rare opportunity to have a one-on-one discussion, without the other Vulcans overhearing them. But soon their voices rose as he had questioned her loyalties, and glancing up he saw the Vulcans were eavesdropping. Who knew what properties those pointed ears had?

But what kept feeding his inner chuckle was her pointed statement of never being insubordinate, coupled with her yanking the covers off of him, turning over, and promptly falling asleep.

It struck him as very human. Specifically, very much like a human woman. He had been in the same uncomfortable situation more than once in his life. It seemed so strangely…intimate.

His eyebrows raised as he glanced at her again, sitting rigid in her station on the bridge of the Enterprise. And like clockwork, she turned and glared at him again with the same hard stare. Did these guys have telepathy too?

She languidly went back to her monitoring, ignoring his attentions. "It's the Vulcan equivalent of rolling her eyes," thought Archer with a smirk.

Looking out at the stars again, he wondered what fate had in store for his Second. That's how he thought of her now, especially after proving herself so clearly at the Temple -- handing over the surveillance pictures to the Andorian at his command, compromising the Vulcans by proving that they were monitoring the Andorians and had, in a very un-Vulcan-like manner, lied. He had always found them to be a rather duplicitous race. But T'Pol had made him question all his preconceptions.

What would happen to her? It was only a matter of time before her High Command discovered that she had turned them in. Would she be considered a traitor? Archer had never been concerned for a Vulcan, but something inside of him twisted at the idea of T'Pol being held accountable for what had happened. Maybe that was what was on her mind when she met his stare. That he had pushed her into doing something she found distasteful.

His eyes wandered again toward her. This time she didn't look back, and Archer found some measure of solace in it. He also suspected she was tired of him throwing stares her way and was ignoring him out of spite. Their philosophy of surpressing their emotions confounded him.

And then there was that whole "smell" thing. It was news to him that humans smelled so bad, Vulcans had to use chemicals to fight it off. If they were stranded in the Temple for a week, he could understand. But he had showered just before the away mission, and he was certain he did not smell. Maybe it was more of that Vulcan superiority complex nonsense.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned to find Trip staring down at him. He looked at Archer, and briefly at T'Pol.

"People are noticing, your, um…starin'."

He looked around the bridge, and sure enough, everyone was turning away as though they'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Thanks," Archer replied.

Just as he said that, T'Pol turned and gave him a really nasty look.

Archer straightened his uniform, and stepped out of his chair. Everyone on the bridge turned to him, waiting for an order. He was going to put this to bed, once and for all.

"As you were," he said, with a small hint of unease. "T'Pol," he said quickly, "Could I speak with you privately?"

T'Pol turned towards him in one smooth movement, and arched her eyebrow.

"Of course, Captain."

***

They were taking the lift down to Level 6. He felt uncomfortable trying to have an audience in private quarters, so he felt that if they walked casually and talked, it would look somehow, he hoped, be easier.

"So," Archer said, breaking the silence (T'Pol hadn't spoken a word since they left the bridge). "What you did was very admirable. I understand if you feel conflicted, but…"

T'Pol have him a hard stare, her arms crossed behind her back as they walked the corridor. "There is no conflict in my mind, Captain. I did what was logical. "

"What I was going to say," Archer started in, "was that I'm grateful to you, knowing what you had at stake."

T'Pol showed some slight irritation, and turned towards him. Archer looked around the hallway to make sure that no one was overhearing them.

"Vulcans do not lie. You have questioned my motives in the past, but I assure you, that the Vulcans you encountered do not represent my people."

Archer shook his head, looking at the ceiling and placing a hand on one side of her, trying to keep their discussion private.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," he replied, meeting her gaze. "It took a lot of guts for you to do what you did."

T'Pol looked back at him, her jaw set, and then stared at his hand against the bulkhead near her shoulder.

"Sorry," said Archer, removing his hand. "I was just trying to keep it private."

They both shifted uncomfortably, and Archer crossed his arms.

"I'm concerned," he whispered. "Concerned that you're going to be questioned by the High Command based on…"

T'Pol put up a hand to silence him, and began walking again.

Archer followed after her, rolling his eyes in frustration.

"Do you consider yourself a traitor?" he called after her.

T'Pol stopped in her tracks. He could see her muscles tightening, trying to fight with her emotions as she turned back to him.

"No. I did what was logical, based on the safety of the crew, and…"

Archer had advanced on her, but stopped himself short of the urge to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Will you be labeled a traitor? That's all I'm asking."

T'Pol looked up into his eyes, in a way she had never done before. Archer almost convinced himself he could see some emotion in them, lying beneath the surface.

"If I am a traitor, then so be it."

She turned away from him and continued down the corridor.

"I-I don't want you held responsible for what happened. Blame it on me."

T'Pol stopped, her shoulders sagging.

"I don’t want you," Archer continued, walking towards her, "To face hardship, with your people, because you're loyal to the Enterprise."

She turned back towards him, and stared at him coldly.

"I made my decision based on what was appropriate. I do not condone the action of my government, and I refuse to condone lying. It is not the Vulcan way."

Archer softened, looking down at her. He felt almost like a schoolboy being reprimanded by a very strict teacher.

"You've made me question my views on Vulcans," he said. "Whenever I want to blame them for what happened to my father, I look at you, and you prove me wrong."

T'Pol watched him intently, her eyes widening slightly at this revelation.

Archer placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes, hoping for more of what he had seen in them before.

"You make me believe in a better future."

Brushing his arm off her shoulder lightly, she took a step backwards and crossed her arms behind her back.

"I would appreciate if you would demonstrate your human emotions verbally in the 'future'," she replied, stressing the last word for effect.

As she headed back to the lift, he sighed and muttered under his breath.

"You're welcome."

THE END