T'Pol (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
with_discipline) wrote2010-08-17 02:21 pm
with_discipline) wrote2010-08-17 02:21 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt Table
| 01. | Hot. | 02. | Cold. | 03. | Day. | 04. | Night. | 05. | Sun. |
| 06. | Moon. | 07. | Stars. | 08. | Light. | 09. | Dark. | 10. | Quiet. |
| 11. | Loud. | 12. | Hate. | 13. | Love. | 14. | Dream. | 15. | Nightmare. |
| 16. | Daydream. | 17. | Past. | 18. | Present. | 19. | Future. | 20. | Awake. |
| 21. | Sleep. | 22. | Brief. | 23. | Forever. | 24. | Emotional. | 25. | Blank. |
| 26. | Life. | 27. | Death. | 28. | Win. | 29. | Draw. | 30. | Lose. |
| 31. | Friends. | 32. | Enemies. | 33. | Black. | 34. | White. | 35. | Embrace. |
| 36. | Strangers. | 37. | Colour. | 38. | Colourless. | 39. | Poor. | 40. | Rich. |
| 41. | Truth. | 42. | Lies. | 43. | Clean. | 44. | Dirty. | 45. | Alone. |
| 46. | Remember. | 47. | Forget. | 48. | Writer's Choice. | 49. | Writer's Choice. | 50. | Writer's Choice. |
19. Future
She was afraid when he dismissed everyone but her. She was afraid when he pressed the phase rifle to her throat. She was afraid when she left her back open to follow his dismissal. It wasn't until she was safe back in quarters she'd taken for her own that T'Pol allowed herself to lean against the wall and breathe. She wasn't supposed to be afraid. She was Vulcan, she was a master of her emotions.
She was terrified.
Eyes closed, T'Pol pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the wall and shivered. It was too cold in here - but then, it was made for a human occupant, whose body was much more accustomed to the cold. Cold was something she'd come to live with aboard the Enterprise - something she'd been forced to grow accustomed to since leaving Vulcan.
Finding the temperature and raising it, T'Pol sat cross legged on the floor, keeping the table and bed between herself and the door. Eyes closed, hands folded in her lap, she meditated, or tried to. Vulcan mantras ran through her head, excerpts of Surak's teachings, definitions and numbers were all focused on until fear faded and logic returned. Returned in part, at least.
Living in fear of Captain Archer and his illogical, dangerous and unbalanced ideas was too overwhelming an option. She had hoped - briefly - that working with him would be possible. As her hands shook, she questioned it.
Two hours later, as she watched him destroy a ship full of fleeing Vulcan rebels, she knew she could not. Fear returned, and no amount of meditation would quell it.
12. Hate
She had wanted to say that since first meeting the self-important, smug Terran woman. Hoshi Sato, Captain's Woman, had always rubbed T'Pol the wrong way. Everything about her, from the way she moved to the way she watched exuded danger. Self-serving was not a fair term, they all were self-serving - but while most were not intelligent enough to do so smartly, T'Pol knew - though she didn't want to admit - that Sato had the intelligence to make herself a threat.
That she was a threat from the beds of men in power left a disgusted taste in T'Pol's mouth.
Cheek throbbing where the whore's knife had cut her, T'Pol shoved Sato against the wall. It would be fulfilling to beat her into unconsciousness - it would be all too satisfying to use her own knife to make sure she wouldn't hop into any more beds for a long while. As her elbow connected with Hoshi's temple, T'Pol felt justified; it would be fair. But if she didn't hurry, her plan would fail. One more punch was all she allowed herself, enough to put the Terran down for long enough to escape.
So it was with a good deal of surprise that she felt the burn of a phase pistol against her back; she had seconds to groan, and recognize that it had been set to stun. Seconds to see the ground rise to meet her, and curse Hoshi Sato for her ambition.
41. TRUTH
A sharing of minds made lying difficult; she knew his thoughts, and he knew hers. There was a bond of sorts - not the bond, the one that could develop between two mates on Vulcan - but a sort of residue was left, something left over from his mind.
45. Alone
T'Pol reached out to pluck a glass of water from a passing waiter, holding it tightly. She was careful not to break the glass, careful not to draw any more attention to herself. Soval was the only other Vulcan present, and he stood somewhere across the room. It reminded her abruptly of her first days on the Enterprise, knowing the only non-human aboard was unlikely to understand her any better. Forty-eight hours of attempted handshakes and curt words that had been uttered in place of knowing the appropriate thing to say. T'Pol had learned then what it was to be alone in a crowd. She learned much later what it was like to be lonely in a crowd.
Her reverie - a lower level of meditation, she told herself - was abruptly ended by a careful hand on her elbow. Turning, the ambassador felt an eyebrow climb, expressing her surprise - her pleasure - at seeing Admiral Archer. "You don't look happy to be here."
T'Pol opened her mouth automatically to reply that happiness was an emotion when she realized he was making a joke. Instead of allowing herself to be its butt, she ignored him. "I heard about your promotion. Congratulations."
Jonathan shrugged, tilting his head back as he took a drink from the champagne flute he held. Not his first, if T'Pol could still judge him accurately. She could. He didn't seem pleased about it, either. "Is something wrong, Admiral?"
He grimaced, draining the glass. "They traded in my ship for a desk and expect me to smile and nod at their parties." The flute was deposited on the tray of another passing waiter. "Yeah, something's wrong."
For a moment, T'Pol cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Strange," she mused, hiding that sense of humor he'd cottoned onto so many years ago. "I was going to say you looked happy to be here. It seems I am mistaken."
Jonathan smiled - laughed - and nodded. T'Pol sipped her water. "We might be seeing a lot more of each other now, Ambassador. It'll be just like old times."
"Indeed." Old times, seventeen years ago when they'd first met, first embarked on that early mission aboard the Enterprise. the Vulcan arched an eyebrow. "I hope this time you won't threaten to knock me on my ass."
His bark of laughter came loud, surprised, and drew attention - but T'Pol didn't mind the stares so much. She'd never not feel alone here, that she knew - that she was trying to accept. She was a Vulcan making her life on Earth, held in bad light on Vulcan, despite her accomplishments. There was nothing on her home planet but a divorced husband; here, there was a grave that demanded her visit from time to time. Here there were friends, for however much longer they would be here. It wouldn't do to dwell on that before she had to.
"Come on, T'Pol," Jonathan said, unable to quell the smile on his face. "Let's find you something better than water."
"I did not think I would have to remind you that alcohol does not affect Vulcans."
"No," Jon said, glancing sidelong at her. "But I know where to find some chocolate."
02. Cold
She counted every mistake, every flouted step in how they had conducted themselves. Every misconception that led to this moment. She wanted to blame someone, but could not; logic had been tossed aside by all parties involved. Perhaps even by herself.
They found a cave system to spend the night hiding in, hoping that Enterprise would be back in that time. And if it was not - he said they would figure that out when the time came. She was already formulating plans, trying not to resent his untouchable faith - something she could not reproduce. The rain had started an hour ago, light, with rolling fog and wind. It brought strange, conflicting memories of the night she'd left the Vulcan Compound in San Francisco to explore, with the fog from the bay, and the first planet she had explored with Enterprise, with its natural hallucinogens.
Soaked half through, they huddled deep in the cave, far from its mouth in case they had been followed. She carefully gathered wood near the entrance of the gave, finding enough that wasn't too damp to ignite a flame; he made the fire. It was small, and smelled strange, but neither complained. They were quite silent, in fact.
T'Pol wrapped her arms around her middle, focusing her warmth on the center of her body, keeping herself as warm as she could. The planet's usual temperature was lower than Earth's, a good deal lower than she was used to - and she had not planned on spending this long here. She sat close to the fire, carefully controlling her shiver until it ceased, exerting her control. There had been a time when she'd thought she would undertake kohlinar; the thought would be laughable now, if she were human.
She closed her eyes, trying to meditate, but there was suddenly a presence next to her, warm and solid. A hand settled on the center of her back, and she finally opened her eyes, head tilting upward slightly to study his face. "You're goina freeze," was all he said, voice quiet, twang distinct. He waited, letting her move first, and it was a smart decision. Had he pressed, she would have pulled back.
But he did not press, and she did not pull back. Shifting on the dirty, cold stone they both sat on, T'Pol moved closer. It was only logical; their body heat would double together, and though he could weather the chill much better than she, they would both benefit from proximity. There was a certain comfort in it that she wasn't willing to admit to. Soon her head slipped to his shoulder, and she found herself recalling Soval: "Do you realize you've picked up a slight human accent?" She had not, and was particularly aware of it on several occasions after. Her habit of thanking people, her attempts to mimic phrases and sayings without fully succeeding. This action of - affection. It was not natural for a Vulcan, but it was not uncomfortable.
Trip's arm slid around her. Damp wood crackled under the small far. "It's goina be fine," he said softly. "The cap'n'll fix this all up soon, an' the Enterprise'll be back lickity-split." She could only guess at the phrase, but it didn't change the fact that she didn't believe him. T'Pol said nothing, knowing she had nothing particularly positive to offer. They had nothing more than the clothes they wore, her PADD, and his phaser. Better than nothing, certainly, but she could have asked for better. Trip leaned in, settling his chin on her head. Despite herself, she didn't mind. "You'll see."
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Re: 45. Alone
Re: 02. Cold
Re: 45. Alone
Re: 02. Cold