Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 31 Jan 2004 13:17:14 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: wiecek@earthlink.net (monkee) 
 

Title: A Man's Best Friend
Author: monkee
email: wiecek@earthlink.net
Series: Enterprise
Pairing: A/T'P, Porthos
Rating: PG-13
Part: 1/1
Date Posted: 31 January 2004

Summary: There's a limit to how much bad news a man can hear in one
Disclaimer: Paramount owns all things Star Trek, including Porthos,
the fearless space pup.

Warning:  Character death. *sniff*

~*~

A typical morning on Ceti Alpha V, sometime in the sixth year…

T'Pol took a slow, deliberate breath, and felt her body relax
slightly. It was almost over, at least for today. They'd been through
it all together: the confusion, the shock, the disbelief, the denial,
and the anger. Then, finally, the comprehension, and the staggering
grief.

She studied Jonathan's face – today, he seemed mostly numb. It
was always subtly different, though, and she understood that this
variability was directly related to how she had told him – the
words she had used, the tone. It fascinated her, in a way, how complex
their life here was. It would have been an interesting study, if it
weren't so difficult for her, and so brutal for him.

In the afternoon, there would be acceptance, and perhaps even a few
hours of peace. They would talk, and there would be a connection
between them. The man she had come to respect and admire on Enterprise
would return, all too briefly. It was only this daily period of calm,
she realized, that made her chosen role in his life tolerable.

She rose and began to prepare lunch. It was early, but neither of them
had eaten a morning meal. He still wouldn't be hungry, which was
always a concern for her. His lack of appetite was understandable,
given the situation, but how could a person get enough nourishment
when he spent most of his time unable to eat?  Phlox had helped her to
develop special, high-protein meals, though, so he was thin, but
relatively healthy.

As she began slicing vegetables, Jonathan turned suddenly away from
the window and asked, "What happened to Porthos?"

She actually dropped the knife, a breach in her Vulcan control that
she noted with a clinical detachment. She knew immediately, with
complete certainty, that something was wrong. If the animal were all
right, he would already be out here. He was never more than a few feet
away from his master.  Never.

She glanced warily at the door to his bedroom and the look on her face
must have revealed her thoughts. He walked swiftly into the room. She
followed, with a sense of foreboding.

They both knelt by the small bed on the floor. The animal was already
stiff and cold. He was old, and had simply gone to sleep and quietly
drawn his last breath. She should have expected it. Why hadn't she
seen this moment coming?

Jonathan stroked the animal's fur for a moment, shaking his head in
disbelief at the gray in his muzzle. "Oh, Porthos," he whispered. He
lowered his head and began to weep.

She waited expectantly for her Vulcan control click into place and was
surprised when it did not. She would need her logic, now, her
discipline. Over the years, she had developed a bond with Jonathan,
despite her best efforts to prevent it. It was probably inevitable
that she would come to understand, and even anticipate, every nuance
of his moods and his behavior. Usually, she was prepared for the
onslaught of his emotions in their predictable daily routine, but this
was different. This loss was far more immediate, more personal. His
anguish was palpable, and her mental disciplines were eluding her.

If she could just move away from him, she knew she could regain her
control. With practiced breathing and mental discipline, she could put
this event in its proper perspective. Porthos was an animal, and he
had simply reached the end of his natural life cycle. It happened to
all living creatures. They would adapt to this loss, as they had
adapted to so many other, more dramatic changes. From this day
forward, the animal's death would just be one more thing she would
have to tell him. If she could just move away from him now, and find
her calm center, it would be better for both of them.

But she found that she could not move away, not when he was so
distressed. Vulcans were not without compassion. She reached out and
slowly placed her hand on his back. Instinctively, she moved her hand
back and forth rhythmically, an action that sparked a dim and distant
memory – the hot Vulcan sun on her skin, the sharp scent of the
herbs her father grew in the garden behind their home, a smudge of
green on a scraped knee, and her mother cradling her, murmuring
soothing words, and stroking her back, just as she, T'Pol, was
stroking Jonathan's now.

He had endured much more than a bloodied knee. She thought of the
litany of things that she had to tell him every day. First, she had to
explain his memory loss. Then, the failure of their mission and the
subsequent destruction of his planet, his family, his friends. Then,
finally, the eradication of almost his entire species. She wondered if
there was a limit to how much grief a man could withstand before he
simply went mad.

His sobs were subsiding now, but she continued to stroke his back.

"I grieve with thee," she said softly. "I'm so sorry, Jonathan. For
everything."

~*~

Dusk...

On this dry and dusty world, the dramatic sunsets rivaled those on
Vulcan. The sky was darkening now, though. The first stars were
beginning to appear.

T'Pol turned from the window and sat wearily at the small kitchen
table. She had eventually convinced Jonathan to eat a small meal.
Then, together, they had buried the animal behind the shelter. She had
suggested the location. It was where the star Sirius rose in the sky
at this time of year. That thought had actually elicited a small smile
from her companion.

Afterwards, he'd asked to be alone outside for awhile. She'd cleaned
the kitchen and sent brief messages to both Tucker and Phlox,
explaining what had happened. They would be concerned for him. Now,
she gazed out the window at the deepening twilight and, for the first
time, felt the absence of the small dog. He was usually lying under
the table at this time of day. Although she'd convinced herself that
she was primarily concerned about how this loss would affect Jonathan,
she knew that she would miss Porthos, too. His presence in the shelter
had been calming for her.

There was a rustle of cloth on cloth as Jonathan sat down across from
her. She had been lost in thought and had not heard him enter. Their
eyes met briefly, then he looked down somewhat awkwardly. The day had
been especially trying, and he was always uncertain, at this stage,
how to relate to her – as a former first officer, a nurse, a
friend, or a lover. She'd learned that it was best to let him feel his
way through – their relationship was fluid, and difficult even
for her to understand.

"You seem sad," he observed. "For a Vulcan, I mean. After all, Porthos
was just a...what does Phlox always say? A subservient quadruped?"

She considered the question, choosing her words carefully. 

"Porthos," she said, after a moment, "was the only thing in your life
unaffected by your loss of memory. He knew nothing of your affliction
and wouldn't care if he did. All he cared about was your presence and
your affection.  He was therapeutic for you. You spent a lot of time
with him. You...you were most at peace when you were with him."

Her voice wavered as she spoke, and she fought, again, for control.
She wondered, sometimes, if she could legitimately consider herself
Vulcan at all anymore. In their sheltered, strange existence here, the
old ways didn't seem completely appropriate. She had discovered that
her responses to his emotions, and to her own, had to be more
flexible.

She heard his breath catch, and looked up. Tentatively he reached
across the table and touched her cheek with the back of one finger.
When he drew the hand away, her tear glistened on his skin.

"T'Pol," he whispered. "This...must be very difficult for you. Why are
you here?"

"I have my reasons," she told him, her stock response to the question.

He sat up straighter, and his expression became firm. "I want you to
leave," he said. "This colony must have a hospital. You should admit
me and go on with your life."

She almost smiled. They had this conversation several times a week.
"Fortunately, I no longer take orders from you," she told him, another
standard answer. Then, because she didn't wish to make light of his
concern for her, she looked him in the eye. "I am here because I want
to be."

She knew he could see her sincerity. It was true. She wanted to be
here – to do this for him. And it wasn't, as she had once told
Soval, a sense of duty or obligation. Yes, he had been injured while
rescuing her from the anomaly, but that debt had long ago been repaid.
Her decision to stay had been far more complicated.

She wanted to be here because she no longer belonged on Vulcan. She'd
come to question her people's interference in human development, and
their uncharacteristic unwillingness to help the humans in the Xindi
conflict. She could accept that, as a people, they'd made some
mistakes in their interactions with humans, but she couldn't accept
that no one was even willing to acknowledge that. It didn't seem
particularly logical, not to learn from your errors.

She also wanted to be here because, in the three years she had served
on Enterprise as its first officer, she'd come to appreciate
Jonathan's good qualities. He did learn from his mistakes, and she
admired that. They had become friends.  She believed he deserved
better than to go through this every day with a stranger.

Mostly, though, she wanted to be here because it was rewarding.
Jonathan faced this nightmare every single day with dignity and
tremendous courage. It was a daily lesson in acceptance, balance, and
even logic. He absorbed the brutal news – news that might have
destroyed him, might have destroyed anyone – and he went on. She
was impressed with this kind of strength and found it inspiring.

Jonathan stood and moved over to her side of the table, then knelt at
her side. "Have I told you," he asked, quietly, "how much I
appreciate..."

She touched his cheek. "Almost every day," she said.

He was startled by the contact, but made an effort not to show it. He
moved closer and leaned his forehead against hers. She started to pull
her hand away, but he covered it with his own. Unwilling, for the
moment, to fight her attraction to him, she closed the distance
between them, and touched her lips to his.

He was unnaturally still for a moment, and she realized that he was
forgetting to breathe. When he remembered, he deepened the kiss.

And she responded, but it was too much. She'd been struggling with her
control since the morning. She couldn't do this. The turmoil of his
emotions, and her own, were too close to the surface. She felt the
same panic that she'd felt with Tolaris so many years ago. She gasped
and stiffened in his embrace, and he stopped instantly. He pulled
away, but continued to hold her hand.

"T'Pol, I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what...I don't know
anything. Are we...?"

"Sometimes," she told him, as she deliberately steadied her breathing.
"But, Jonathan, it's almost always a mistake."

And it was. Even when she left his room before he awoke, he knew he'd
been with someone, and she was the only one there. It confused him and
greatly complicated their routine. And it made her own struggle with
her emotions that much more difficult. If she wanted to help him, she
had to stay centered. Occasionally, though, she had allowed the
intimacy. She told herself that he needed sexual release, but she knew
that wasn't the whole truth.

She had thought that tonight, perhaps, simply because she couldn't
imagine him going into his now-empty room alone...but now she knew she
couldn't do it, couldn't let herself get drawn into his grief and
need, and into her own gathering and unchecked emotion. It might even
be dangerous for her.

"I'm sorry," she said, meaning it. "I know this is a difficult night,
but I must meditate. I have to go."

He pressed his lips to her hand, then released her. "I understand,
T'Pol. And..." He paused, his expression helpless. "There's nothing I
can say. Thank you. Again. And I'm sorry. For all of this."

She stood. "I know," she said. "Goodnight, Jonathan." She started to
go, but turned back toward him.

"I am here because I want to be," she reiterated.

He nodded. Just before she closed her bedroom door, she looked back at
him. He had moved to the window, and was staring out at the alien
stars. Sirius was rising in the east.

The End.

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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