A Rare and Peaceful Moment in the MU

Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands.

Summary: T'Pol searches for the reason for her attraction to a member of the species holding her own species in slavery.

Inspiration: This fic was inspired by reading Misplaced and Aadarshinah's latest works.  I started pulling up images which have been floating around in my mind for a long time.  And I have been impressed at how differently Graham played Soval in the MU as opposed to the RU.  This was written all in one sitting as my short pieces usually are.  Since I have not watched the MU episodes lately, I may have gotten a few things wrong.  And I have added a few of my own embellishments to the MU.  So if something seems off...consider this story an AU of the MU, LOL.

T'Pol closed the door to Soval's quarters softly behind her.  His lined face under the age-whitened hair struck her as dispirited when with tired and honest eyes he had said "I am too old".  Where was the fire that she had seen in the vids displaying the daring acts of his youthful rebellion?  Gone.  Gone with his youth.  Those secret vids of the resistance had been made long ago.  But they still infected her today, and they had inspired her to apply to Starfleet and become a sleeper...a spy and activist waiting for her chance.

Her step quickened.  She wanted to view the database from that alternate universe again - such hope, such promise that life here did not need to be as it now was.

She liked very little of what comprised her own universe. But then, there was Tucker.  There was something not so bad about this particular human.  But why was he not so bad?  Why hadn't she gone to another Vulcan in her time of need?  There were plenty of them on board...  But they had all joined Starfleet for reasons other than her own.  She could not believe, could hardly wrap her mind around the idea, that there were actually Vulcans who bought the whole Human superiority-aggression package and threw their minds and bodies into support of it!   Of course there were others that were coerced or were spies like her.  As for the spies, if they were not caught, she did not know who they were.   And if they WERE caught...they were no longer available to her. 

And now she was passing the door to his quarters.  What was it about him?  He was only a bitter, crafty, unsavory, scarred, human.  Yet there must be something more or she would not have been attracted to him, right?  What was that something more?  She paused in front of his door.  She wanted to know. 

She hadn't realized that she had punched the visitor button to his quarters until she was there inside with him looking up at her in surprise from the photos glowing up from the screen-surface on his desk.

"Commander T'Pol," he smirked to cover the pleasure he felt in her visit.  "What, can I do for you?"

What indeed, she thought.  "I was bored," she said, which was a lie because she never was bored.  She could always find something to occupy her mind.  Not bored, curious.

"I was curious."

"Really, about what?"

"About how you spend your time when you are alone.  I just came from the quarters of a person who surprised me about how he looked when he was alone."

"Oh?  And did you enjoy it?"

T'Pol shivered slightly.  The suggestion of sexual activity with a jaded, beaten down old man was distasteful.  Not that Soval, if he still had a little backbone, could not be very sexually compelling...  Yet, such as he were not for her.  She looked down at Tucker's scarred face.  A pity.  It was a nice face, actually.  So expressive and not lacking in character.  Strong character.  The protective character of a mate.  And somehow - he was somewhat telepathically receptive - she sensed the lack of total commitment to the human cause.  She sensed...an almost Vulcan-like ethical base.  

She looked away from him for a moment but he sat patiently waiting her next words.  Now that was more like a Vulcan too - his patience. 

Then she looked at the photos.  She saw the family resemblance in the faces.  They were happy faces sitting at a wooden oblong table outside a house.  A chaos of food dishes were scattered all over the table.  They sat relaxed in different postures, not formally erect as at a Vulcan meal.  And a Vulcan meal was never held outdoors.  Something about this family said 'ordinary' and 'peaceful' and 'caring' and 'non-aggressive'.  Fascinating.

T'Pol leaned down and looked closely at a photo that held the image of a smiling young woman.

"That was Lizzie." His voice held a great sadness, a great hurt, a great love. "My baby sister."

"She is no longer living," responded T'Pol, feeling his pain.

Silence filled the room for several moments, pregnant with sadness.     

"She, she," he dropped his face into his hands.

Compassion overwhelmed T'Pol and before she knew what she was doing, she had gently pulled his hands away from his face.  Tears, ready to drop, were making his eyes shine.  On impulse, she took a finger and traced the path of his scar down the side of his face.

"Yes, the scar.  You instinctively seem to already know how I got it.  But I will tell you anyway.  Some bastard alien ship cut a much larger scar into the surface of my planet and I got this smaller scar trying to drag people out of burning buildings at the edge of that hideous trail of destruction. Xindi bastards.  But we humans took care of them, didn't we?  They no longer exist. We were peaceful before that.  But we will make sure no more scars are etched into our world.  We will subdue all the aliens out there.  Then we will be at peace again."

"You will be at war forever trying to subdue aggressive aliens if that is your view of the universe and your place in it."  She now slid her hand into his, touching two of his fingers.   "Do humans truly want peace?"

"Some of us do.  Some of us...are tired of war.  It won't bring her back.  When my anger gets tired, she...is still gone."

"Exactly.  We Vulcans are an old race.  We already know this."

He frowned at her.  "We conquered you.  How could you have anything to teach us about war and about peace? "

"Let me show you."

And she led him over to his bunk and unbuttoned his shirt.  He smiled and relaxed.  She took him through several postures of neuropressure to which he responded well.  And then they joined their bodies, this time slowly, gently, with none of the urgency of the plak tow.