Come Twilight ch- 2

Come Twilight

By Nikitee

Rating: NC-17, Angst
Disclaimer: Paramount owns them lock, stock, and barrel. I own a cat and a laptop; I’m not worth suing.

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Chapter 2

The first six months on Ceti Alpha V had been the easiest for Jonathan, and consequently for her: there were battered ships and freighters to dismantle, power and water treatment plants to construct, fields to clear of brush and debris and prepare for planting, dwellings and public buildings to erect. Jonathan proved himself both an able hydro-engineer, and an able carpenter: T’Pol was careful to choose and reserve tasks for him that could be completed in a single working day, so that he was not faced with reading his own scrawled measurements or notes made the day before, a day he no longer remembered. On days when he recognized his own work, he was sullen and short-tempered. On days he did not, he was quite obviously pleased with his accomplishments, even cheerful.

The former captain of the Enterprise, a certified warp engineer and veteran commander, installed piping for the hydroelectric plant, framed homes, installed domestic plumbing and environmental-system ducts… and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep each day’s end. It was, T’Pol reflected, the only time since the corridor that he did not have nightmares: his exhaustion was complete due to the physical labor alone. He had no time to dwell on the gaps in his memory, in his life. He had no time to think. For that, she was grateful.

Their two-room dwelling was one of the first permanent structures to be completed, in part because Jonathan was respected by the refugees with whom he and T’Pol now lived and worked, in part because he was pitied. Jonathan’s emotions challenged her, because of their intensity and confusion, but the outbursts of the colonists who knew of his condition -- and it was soon every man woman and child in the settlement, some 1250 humans -- were the most difficult for her to understand: Most days, they would joint he others and begin work mid-morning -- some days earlier or later, depending on the speed and character of his morning reorientation. In idle moments, when work did not impose its merciful silence, these determined, dauntless people expressed their condolences to her, as if Jonathan were not still a living, breathing, intelligent man. They mourned the loss of the legendary Captain Archer loudly and with reverence, sometimes with tears and choking voices, sometimes in his presence. They displaced the full force of their unvoiced hopelessness onto him. Like him, they found no solace in their memories; unlike him, they had to grasp at the belief that tomorrow would bring improvement, and peace. Pitying Jonathan, they could avoid pitying themselves.

The refugees -- no, T’Pol corrected herself, the colonists -- had been on Ceti Alpha V for four months, 17 days, 14 hours, and 12 minutes when she and Jonathan moved into their mostly-completed dwelling. The meager belongings they had brought from Enterprise, which had so crowded their shared, Starfleet-issue tent when they first arrived, consisted of only their two small cases of civilian clothing, a single box of books and photographs from Jonathan’s quarters, and her kisma-ta, her candle holders. T’Pol’s heavy metal wall sculpture remained on Enterprise, in the quarters she had last occupied.

They unpacked quickly. T’Pol hung their clothes in the small closet in the sleeping chamber. Jonathan placed her kisma-ta on the kitchen counter, then arranged his books on the ledge under the long window in the sitting area in the main room; she noted as she joined him that they were in the same order as they had been in his quarters on Enterprise, sorted by size and subject, not by author. He lingered by them, ran his calloused fingers along the spines, but did not open any of the colorful old volumes. He sighed; then spoke almost in a whisper, knowing she would hear him. With her ears, she always did.

“You know, I memorized these books as a child: the history of the old NASA space program, the biography of John Glenn, statistics and speculation on the Crab Nebula… I still know every word.”

She nodded when he’d finished speaking, bracing herself for what could follow, the balled fists and clipped, angry words with which he expressed his frustration at knowing so much, but remembering too little to be... to be truly human, in his own words.

He surprised her, not for the first time: “We’re not going back, T’Pol. We can only go forward. There has to be something for us.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Jonathan. My name is Jonathan.”

TBC

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Two folks have made comments

I'm looking forward to reading more of this story. I thought there was a lot unspoken about this episode that could be made into an interesting story with a Trip/T'Pol slant.

very good!! keep going plz :)
~Sara~