| The Last Journey By: Snowballjane She strode around the departure lounge in search of toffees. The one thing she had forgotten to pack had been the first thing he'd asked for. It had none of the cleanliness or military efficiency of a Starfleet spaceport, this civilian place for beginning and ending journeys. The lounge was filled with metal tables that wobbled and chairs far too uncomfortable for the room ever to live up to its moniker. The overwhelming odour of sweaty travellers and sticky children made her stomach turn. T'Pol gazed across the open space at her grey-haired husband, whose head was nodding slightly to one side as he drowsed. As a couple they had always attracted stares of amazement. Now more than ever, people tended to gawk. Admiral Jonathan Archer was approaching retirement age at the end of a distinguished career. His wife looked little older than she had when she joined the crew of the Enterprise. There was an odd line around the eyes perhaps, and although she no longer wore the tight-fitting suits that had turned heads all those years ago, her body was still fairly trim. Until recently, people -- men especially -- had looked at the admiral with envy. And now Jonathan Archer was dying. They hadn't wanted to believe it at first. When the diagnosis came back from Starfleet medical, the first thing they had done was to call Dr Phlox, who was currently working in a teaching hospital on some inhospitable disease-ridden world. He had promised to review the test results and call them back. As soon as they saw his face over crackling sub-space, they knew the worst. She remembered Jon's reaction when he heard that she might die from Pa'nar Syndrome -- fury which eventually proved to be unnecessary. She could not respond with the same anger to the illness gradually crippling her husband, could not indulge the rage and pain that tugged at the edge of her consciousness each night as she meditated. Instead she was able to deal with the practicalities -- the treatments, the medications, the daily discoveries of more things he could no longer do. She took leave from the university where she taught physics, so that she could be there, an unfailing tower of strength. And she would not think of the future, for she did not know what she would do when he was gone. He had loved her, and she -- well, perhaps love wasn't exactly the right word for it, but she knew her life had been infinitely the richer for her relationship with Jonathan Archer. And here, now, was a shop with toffee for sale. The tiniest victory, but it meant one more piece of simple happiness she could bring him. She selected the largest bag available. Yes, it had been a strange choice, but in the end, for some reason, they couldn't do without each other. Of all her memories of their wedding day, the one that came back to her now was of a bemused Soval being given a handful of orange rose-petal confetti by Lieutenant Sato. "You throw it at them," Hoshi had said, and for once the Vulcan hadn't questioned the peculiar Earth custom. He had simply thrown the confetti. Of course, Soval had been the only Vulcan who had supported the marriage. His approval had surprised her at first. "You will have a unique opportunity to study human behaviour. I hope you will take careful notes," he had said, calling her as soon as her heard the news. T'Pol had carefully studied his face on the screen for a sign that the absurdity of the comment was intentional. But there had been no quirk of the lip or flicker of eyebrow. Soval remained Vulcan and inscrutable. He had brought them a traditional Vulcan soup dish as a wedding gift - the very finest quality. She had accused him teasingly of emotional indulgence. He had raised an eyebrow at that. A slim blonde woman in a smart blue and white uniform, brandishing a padd and smiling, approached her as she left the candy store. "Mrs. Archer, your vessel is ready. It's at quay number five. The skipper's already there," she trilled. T'Pol nodded her understanding. "Will you need any extra assistance?" "No, thank you," said T'Pol. She strode across the lounge towards Jon, barely noticing the woman calling after her, wishing her an enjoyable trip. With little time remaining, T'Pol had proposed taking a short space cruise: a valedictory impulse drive ride around the sights of the solar system - not that they hadn't seen them all before. The doctors had refused, saying that going off-planet at this point was out of the question. She had watched Jon blink back his disappointment, and then set out determined to find a solution. In the end she had enlisted the help of the former Enterprise crew, asking for their advice on a late-night conference call while Jon slept fitfully in the next room. Malcolm had been in favour of a rescue operation. "We could kidnap the admiral by transporter and fly him to Jupiter," he had suggested. Trip had rolled his eyes and come up with an alternative. She shook Jon gently by the shoulder to wake him and his face creased into a gentle smile as he saw the bag of toffees in her hand. As the plate glass doors swished open in, she pushed his wheelchair out onto the sun-warmed jetties. They rounded a corner and saw her - an elegant yacht, white sails billowing. A young man on board turned and waved in greeting, shouting out that he was to be their skipper. It would be their last journey together. They would lie on their backs on the deck and look up at the stars. The End |