Child of Dreams
I acted so distant then, didn't say goodbye before you left.
But I was listening, you'll fight your battles far from me,
Far too easily.
1000 Words by Koda Kumi
Chapter 11
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Moonlight sparkled on the water by the east cove, casting the area in ghostly hues of blue and silver. There was much of Hahnai that reminded him of Earth. The colors were so similar that were it not for the differences in the stars themselves, he wouldn’t know the differences. The swish of the waves on the shore was dulled by the calm state of the seas. In the cove itself, hardly a breeze stirred. There were only the sounds of wind and water, even the night creatures seemed quiet, as if waiting for something. Archer walked along the shoreline, allowing the water to wash over his bare feet. His eyes searched the sand, hoping for some indication that his children were near. His mind had finally wrapped around the fact that they were no longer at the temple, but his heart didn’t want to accept it. T’Pol had been a great help with a lot of it, talking to him, sharing his past, what she could of it. She, with the help of the crew on Enterprise, had shown him pictures and some video of his life. He had read logs, then talked to T’Pol some more. It was frustrating, but some of it seemed to make sense, for slowly, as bit by bit of information was shared with him, it released a little more of his memory. It was almost as if by the telling, he could say ‘oh yeah, I remember now.” He didn’t understand though how he could have a memory of something that didn’t exist and hadn’t happened to him.
When he had asked T’Pol why it had taken so long for them to come to him, she had informed him that they had scanned for his bio-signs and kept getting sketchy readings. Two separate searches had been made of the Hahnalan temple and they had uncovered nothing. The technical explanation was that the temple and the land around Hahnala emitted an energy field that interfered with the scanners. The first time they had gotten a steady reading on him was when he had been on the cliffs where they had found him.
His mind turned over the events of the last few days. He and T’Pol had covered a lot of territory. They had been over every inch of the temple and the beach and had found no sign of the children. Even stranger was the fact that there had been no sign of him. If he had lived in the temple of Hahnala during the last three weeks, even in a state of delusion, there should have been something; but all they had been able to find were their own footprints left from earlier searches.
Despite everything, T’Pol continued to help him look. Each day they explored a different area, and each day he learned more about himself, and every day T’Pol stood by him. She had yet to suggest they give up and go back to the ship. He knew it was logical. There was no evidence to suggest he had ever fathered children, and yet, his heart bade him to keep searching. At night, he dreamed of them, they begged him to find them, told him they were fading, dying. In his dreams, night after night, he watched them dive over the edge of the cliffs. It never failed to wake him, drenched in sweat, just as T’Pol never failed to be there, allowing him to hold onto her while he calmed himself. The dreams shouldn’t have had such power over him. It was a battle between the dream world and the real one and he was caught in the middle, straddling a fence of want and responsibility. Dreams weren’t the only places the children haunted him. He heard their tears in every storm, their laughter in every wave that washed upon the shore. He saw them in the brilliant rays of sunlight that sparkled off the water and through the trees, and in the pale silver beams of moonlight that illuminated the hidden places with a magical light. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the memory of them. Always they called to him and he had no choice but to keep looking. Love was a powerful motivator. But how was it possible for a man to remember a child that did not exist? If it were all some elaborate hoax, then why create children and an attachment to them? What was the purpose? What did it accomplish but to make him want something he didn’t have?
There were no logical answers, but he couldn’t stop the questions, just as he couldn’t stop searching. His children were alive in his heart, and he couldn’t imagine regaining his memory and them still not being there. They seemed too real, too alive. They were simply missing in his existence and he was determined to find them once more.
Watching the waves roll in and out, he sighed. Three days of searching, a lifetime of want…He jumped as a hand settled on his back, but calmed as the scent of her washed over him. T’Pol.
Standing companionably beside him, T’Pol watched the waves as well. The moon rose high and full above them, casting her light in silvery streams, nearly as bright as the sun. “It is a pleasant night.”
“Yeah.” His response was hesitant, almost despondent.
“The moon is quite bright.”
He glanced up, his expression guarded, as if expecting to see something he really didn’t want to see. It lasted only a second, and then the sadness returned. “The night you found me I was contemplating the moon, and the children. I was remembering a story I had once heard about a child of the moon. At the time I was thinking about how my children looked, that they resembled the two of us, yet had traits that didn’t seem common to either. I remember a moment of fancy, thinking of the story, and being so certain the children were mine and real, and then you were there and they were gone. Now I wonder if it were all some illusion, some slip of my mind, trying to remind me what is real.” Silence reigned for several moments before he spoke again. “Earth history is filled with mythology and stories concerning the moon. I used to love the mythology, thrive on the old stories. What if my mind took some of that mythology, layering something familiar over the emptiness? What if I they really are nothing more than illusion?”
“Do you truly believe that, Jonathan?”
“I… don’t know.” He turned toward her and drew her close, resting his forehead against hers. “It would make sense wouldn’t it? With the exception of Meyah, all the children reference something illusory or out of reach; Luna the moon… the angel Gabriel… Henry, named after my father; dreams and wishes.”
“But did you not tell me that humans require those dreams and wishes to help them grow? Did your people not walk on the moon, colonize it? Do you not claim angels in human form and continue to believe in a creature that represents goodness and hope? Do you not remember your father each day and honor that memory by flying a ship that carries his engine? It does not have to be all dreams and wishes. Your children are real to you. Perhaps they are just waiting to be.”
He pulled back, meeting her eyes. “How can someone so steeped in logic, be so comforting?”
“I cannot claim to understand the emotions you are experiencing, but I can see you are suffering in this. Your children are a part of you, real or imagined. As your friend, I have an obligation to stand by you. It is not my place to tell you what is or is not real.”
His hand stroked her cheek. “Just obligation? Just friendship?”
“Jonathan…”
“I don’t think so.” His face tipped towards hers again, his mouth ghosting over hers. He nearly smiled at her response; the subtle flexing of her body against his own. Her mouth softened, breath flowing out on a sigh as it opened in invitation. His lips brushed hers again as he whispered, “My dearest friend, my closest friend…” His mouth closed over hers, his tongue slipping inside to explore the moist depths. His heart beat raced to life, pounding in his chest, his throat, his head. The rapid tattoo beat out the sound of the surf in his. He was surrounded in it and her.
For T’Pol, all thought of logic fled at his kiss. She had never understood being swept away in the moment until Jonathan had started kissing her. With each kiss, she willingly lost a part of herself. She had always found him to be an attractive man. Just as she acknowledged being attracted to him, but somehow they had both been able to keep their relationship in a solid, stable friendship, keeping it safe, and comfortable, the Captain and his first officer.
Now though, the Captain had been stripped away, leaving a strong, vulnerable man. He was open and eager, allowing none of the protocols and peculiarities of command to guide him. His emotion had always fascinated her, but the drive of it now drew her like a moth to a flame. And he burned just as hot, especially when his focus was on her. And like the moth, she didn’t care about being burned. As his lips teased her own, she arched against him. The decision was much more simple than she thought it would be. She wanted him, wanted to be burned up in the fire that was part of him. Her hands slid under his shirt, gliding over flesh that nearly scalded her fingertips. She tested muscles, learned the feel of skin and hair, and then she was breaking contact, urging his shirt over his head.
Jonathan blinked as she stepped back, then once more as material clouded his vision. His heart stopped, then thundered to life as she pressed against him once more. Her hands worked quickly at the waistband of his trousers, shoving them down his hips as they loosened. He shifted only enough to kick the restricting material away. Naked and proud, he stood before her, allowing her to make the next move. Once more her hands pressed to his chest, tracing the definition of lines, learning him. Her eyes followed the flow of her hands and he watched her, taking it all in, until it become too much, and the need to see her, to touch her, guided his movements. His hands shook slightly as he reached for her. His hands caught at her shoulders, and slid slowly down her arms. When he reached her hands, he stopped, curling his fingers around her own and holding them against his chest. After a moment, he smiled at her and drew her away from the surf, bending to pick his shirt up out of the sand. Guiding her further up the beach, he released her long enough to spread his shirt over the sand, and then she was back in his arms, and tumbling to the ground as her clothes flew off in a flurry of movement. For all his hurry in disrobing her, he motions slowed once skin was bare. His hands moved over her as if she were the most precious of treasures.
With devoted reverence, he explored her. Touch and taste, sight and sound, mapping, learning, listening, as though she might disappear, and all he would have is the memory of the moment. His mind glimpsed through images and embraces of the two of them together, and though powerful and erotic, they felt empty and without depth, a wish or a dream, nothing compared to the reality of her beneath him. She tasted of sea and salt, moonlight and magic, and most especially woman, and he savored every taste, diving in again and again. And when he joined with her, and she rose up to meet him, his reality shattered once more, caught up in the reality of the two of them together.
Jonathan was loath to move. T’Pol was warm and soft beneath him. He liked the feel of her there, the sense of rightness that came from being a part of her. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. There was no regret there, no impatience, only signs of the things he himself was feeling; love and tenderness. She might not express things as he did, but he knew, could see it in her face and feel it in his heart. He smiled and kissed her, light and teasing. “I love you.”
T’Pol raised a hand and stroked his cheek. “Yes.” The wind began to whistle around them, and the pounding of the surf increased. “We should get back to the shuttle. A storm is moving in.”
He rolled carefully to his feet and offered her a hand, helping her up. “Probably would be a good idea. Give me a minute, okay.” He took a moment to ogle her, mischievous grin in place, and then he was running into the surf and rinsing off.
Checking the sky for signs of lightening, T’Pol shook her head. He was as playful as a child, splashing about in the water. With another shake of her head, T’Pol bent to pick up her clothes, and froze. Standing on the path back to the temple stood a child, a little girl of about four, ghostly pale, with long dark hair flying wildly in the wind. The child wore a tattered and dirty nightdress, and was watching Jonathan longingly. She didn’t appear to notice T’Pol at all.
It was as Jonathan turned out of the surf that he too noticed the child standing in the moonlight. Meyah, his little Meyah… He didn’t want to look away, and yet he wanted to see if T’Pol could see her. He glanced over and noticed T’Pol, standing still, looking at the spot where Meyah stood. His voice was low, barely audible over the surf and wind. “Do you see her T’Pol?”
“Yes.”
Those words seemed to lift a weight off his chest. It occurred to him that it all could be a dream, but he pushed it away. Never had he dreamt of T’Pol and the children in the same space. He wasn’t completely delusional. He started as T’Pol’s hand closed over his arm. She had thrown his shirt over her head, and was handing him his underwear, but she was still watching the child as he had been. Without much thought, he stepped into his boxers, grateful to the water that made the task easier. Pulling the tank top over his head, he hurried out of the surf and toward the girl, T’Pol several steps behind him.
Thunder began to rumble in the sky. Lightening flashed and rain began to fall. Wind whipped around him, against him, as if it were a solid force, pushing him away from her. Water stung his eyes. He stumbled, falling to his knees. Lightening flashed again, bright, blinding. A scream echoed through the night, high pitched, full of terror, and he crawled toward it, but when his vision cleared, Meyah was gone. A low groan of pain pushed its way through him, feeling as though it were ripping him apart in its utterance. He finally made it to the place she had stood, but there was nothing, no sign in the rain and wind and night, that a small girl had ever stood in that spot. He knelt there, head bowed, hands clenched in fists, as the storm beat down on him.
T’Pol stood in silent support of Jonathan’s grief. Her eyes scanned the area, but she could see the child nowhere in the vicinity. The girl had disappeared in a flash of light, but she thought she could still hear the child’s sobs in the storm. Her logic could not explain the apparition. Her eyes had told her the child was there, but there was no proof of her existence. Had it just been herself or Jonathan who had seen the girl, she might have passed it off as wishful thinking, but for both of them to see her spoke of things she wasn’t sure she wanted to consider.
Lightening continued to flash around them. The wind continued its wild swirling, and the rain pounded down on them. She moved closer to Jonathan and rested her hand on his shoulder. She shuddered at the force of emotion rolling off him. His grief was palpable, and so she continued to stand, a silent sentinel, watching the storm.