The BLTS Archive - The Impossible Dream
by Chocolatequeen (g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com)

---

Archiving: OK at Archer's and Endeavors, anywhere else please ask.

Disclaimer: I own neither Enterprise nor Man of La Mancha, and I think
the title of this chapter is a line of poetry that I don't own.

A/N: Like I said, I was listening to Scott sing and the plot bunnies
just grabbed a hold of me. In some ways it's very silly, but the more
I think about it the more it isn't.

---
Prologue: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
---

Jonathan Archer sighed as he kicked his shoes off. Being captain of a
starship certainly had its rewards, but some days they were few and
far between. Today had been one of those days. Actually, there hadn't
been very many rewarding moments since Enterprise had entered the
Delphic Expanse six weeks ago and he was wearing thin.

"Hey Porthos," he said tiredly when the beagle came over to greet him.
"Give me a moment to get changed and I'll feed you, okay?"

He opened his closet to pull out a t-shirt, but when he grabbed the
shirt from the stack he had folded on the shelf, his fingers brushed
against something hard. "What's this?" he muttered, retrieving the
small metal box. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before
he remembered what it was. "It's all the home movies dad took of my
high school plays. Maybe I'll watch some tonight, that might cheer me
up," he mused while he got changed.

Five minutes later Porthos had been fed and Jon was holding the box
again, trying to decide which one to watch first. "Hm. Camelot? Not
one of my finer performances," he grimaced, setting it aside. "What
about Seven Brides for Seven Brothers? Well, I'd rather not have my
dreams filled with "them Sabine women," so not that one. Wait, what's
this one" He pulled out a card and gently blew off the dust that was
obscuring the title. He stared at it a minute while deciding and then
finally smiled. "Yes, I think I can sympathize with Don Quixote right
now. There have certainly been times in the last six months when I've
wished I could escape into a fantasy world of chivalry and gallantry."

Slipping the card in to play, he settled down on his bed and immersed
himself once more in the adventures of the Man of La Mancha. By the
end of the first song, he was smiling and singing along, his cares
swept away by memories of happier days and the simple nobility borne
by the title character.

When Cervantes began artfully weaving together the tales of how Don
Quixote saw the world and how it really was, he wondered who of his
crew would have been picked for various roles. "Trip would be Sancho
of course, and I suppose Phlox would be the priest. Who do you think
Malcolm would be, Porthos?" he asked the dog who simply wagged his
tail in response. "Maybe Dr. Carasca. Yes, he'd be the one trying to
force me to regain my sanity."

He watched, engrossed in the story, when the novel lord explained his
quest to his lady love. "To fight for the right without question or
pause, to be willing to march into Hell for a heavenly cause!' That's
why we're out here. The Expanse may not be Hell but it's as close I
want to get."

And when the story concluded with Dulcinea's reassurance that Don
Quixote would never die as long as his ideals lived on, Jon found
himself strangely heartened by her words. "I guess there's more of the
crazy old knight in me than I thought, eh boy?" he commented as he
rose to select another play from the box.

But when he stood up, he realized too late that Porthos had dragged
his favorite chew toy next to the bed and abandoned it there. His last
thought as he went down was that he really needed to learn to watch
where he was going, and then everything went black.

---
Chapter 1: I, Jon Quixote
---

Darkness, there was so much darkness. Jon groaned and shifted against
the deck, fighting the darkness and the pain pulsing behind his eyes.
"Where am I?" he mumbled, pulling himself upright.

It was a rhetorical question, but as he looked around the unfamiliar
cabin, he realized with a growing sense of panic that he really didn't
know where he was. "Whoa, I must have hit my head pretty hard," he
said weakly, rubbing the aching knot above his left temple.

Despite his initial instinct to panic, something deep inside him was
urging him to be logical. "Right, logical. So what do I remember?" He
frowned, wracking his brain for something, and piece of information
that might lend a clue to his identity. "I'm called. Jonathan!" he
proclaimed triumphantly. "My name is Jonathan Archer!"

Knowing his own name did more to calm him than anything else could
have, and very soon memories of his most recent adventures flooded his
mind. He saw images of himself on a dusty road, carrying a sword as he
sallied forth to glory, visions of strange four-armed giants, and a
strange memory of being surrounded by mirrors. Putting the pieces
together, he drew the only conclusion he could. "I am a noble knight!"
he cried out joyously. "Mine is the highest calling, as I travel from
town to town, robbing from the rich to. No, that's not right," he said
with a frown.

Pulling himself up onto the bed, he searched for more clues. "Every
knight has a quest," he realized. "What's mine?" The very word "quest"
seemed to unlock a whole stream of memories. "To run where the brave
dare not go. that means I." His mind struggled to grasp yet another
memory that threatened to slip away. "I am boldly going where no man
has gone before!" he remembered. "And when I do, I protect the weary
and oppressed along the way, all with the help of my worthy squire."

Suddenly, clear blue eyes and a Southern drawl eased there way to the
front of his brain. "Sancho! How could I forget Sancho?" he bemoaned.
"What kind of knight errant would forget his own squire? I must find
him," he announced, getting to his feet.

He took a step toward the door, wincing at the pain that went shooting
through his head at the motion. When he got there he reflexively
reached out to touch a button, opening the door before he even
realized what he was doing. Standing in the corridor, he looked first
right and then left, uncertain as to which way to go. Try as he might,
he had no memory of this place. "We must have been overtaken by
villains, Sancho and I," he reasoned. "Why else would I not recognize
my surroundings? Sancho may be in grave danger, it will be up to me to
rescue him!" he declared. "But first, right or left?" He looked down
both ways again and finally moved toward the right. "I'm coming
Sancho. I think," he muttered.

Following the corridor, he passed several closed doors. Part of him
wished to open them, but once again something in his gut spoke to him
and said no. Finally, just when he was about to succumb to the
pounding in his head and sink back in the merciful blackness, he saw
an open door ahead. "Maybe I can at least sit for a while until this
pain abates," he said weakly as he stumbled into the mess hall.

He pulled out a chair and collapsed into it, oblivious to anything but
the greyness that was pressing down on his vision. Hence, he did not
even notice the other occupant of the room until he heard a blessedly
familiar voice. "Cap'n, what happened?" Trip asked. "Not to be
insulting, but you look like hell, sir."

Trip approached his commanding officer with a level of concern that
soon turned to confusion. Jon's eyes had focused on his face the
instant he'd heard him speak, a broad smile gracing his features.
"Sancho!" he cried. "I feared I would not find you in time. But how
did you escape their vile clutches?" he asked, puzzlement wrinkling
his brow.

Trip stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the man who'd been his
best friend for the better part of ten years. "Jon? Do you know who I
am?" he asked tentatively.

"Why of course I do," Jon scoffed, bringing a look of relief to Trip's
face that disappeared with his next words. "You are Sancho, my
faithful friend and loyal squire!"

Now Trip was well and truly befuddled. "And who are you Cap'n," he
asked, half afraid of the answer.

"What kind of question is that? I'm Jonathan Archer, Knight of the
Woeful Countenance!"

"Knight of the." In a flash, Trip knew what was happening. "Yes Cap'n.
I mean, my lord. Do you remember where you are?"

A flash of bewilderment crossed Jon's face before he answered. "I had
hoped you would know more about that than I," he remarked woefully.
"You see, I fear this blow to my head," he gestured to the nasty black
and blue lump he was sporting, "has addled my mind slightly. But I am
assuming The Enchanter captured us and took us to his lair?" he
questioned, looking to Trip for confirmation.

Trip drew a deep breath before answering. "No quite, my lord. This is
our home."

Stunned, Jonathan looked around and caught a glimpse of the stars
through the porthole. "Are we sailing through the heavens?" he asked,
dumbfounded.

"Yep. Don't you remember? You decided that other planets needed a
knight protector just as much as Earth, so we left two years ago for
the stars." Trip held his breath after he told this slightly skewed
version of the truth, hoping the captain would buy it, he himself very
pleased with the story he'd come up with.

He seemed to consider that for a moment before smiling. "That is a
noble endeavor!" he pronounced.

Trip grinned at that. "Yes Cap. my lord, it is very noble. Why, so far
we have stopped wars, freed innocent prisoners, and helped a group of
refugees get to freedom." A possible way to for help struck him and he
said, "In fact, I was just on my way to find out what our next gallant
action will be."

"We shall go together!"

"No! That is, your head looks like it's hurting you something awful.
Why don't you just sit here and." he stopped and looked around
desperately, then ran to get a cup of coffee. "You just sit here and
drink this. It'll help your headache and I'll be back before you even
know I'm gone," he promised, backing out through the door.

"T'Pol is never going to believe this," he muttered as he raced down
the corridor to her quarters. Arriving slightly out of breath, he
pressed the call button until the door opened to reveal a pajama clad
Vulcan. "Evnin' Sub-commander."

"Commander Tucker, I assume there is a reason you are standing outside
my quarters at 01:42 in the morning," she inquired coolly, eyebrows
raised.

"Nah, I just felt like pissin you off. Listen T'Pol, do you know the
story of Don Quixote?" he asked anxiously.

Her eyebrows shot up even farther at that. "Good night Commander. If
you still wish discuss human mythology in the morning I might have
time to listen."

She moved to shut the door but was stopped by the anger and
frustration in his voice. "If you care about the cap'n you'll listen
now!" he spat out. Seeing that he had her attention, he continued with
his explanation. "Don Quixote was a crazy old Spanish man who thought
he was a knight. He pulled all kinds of ridiculous stunts in the name
of nobility, stuff like fightin a windmill. I just came from talkin to
the cap'n and it looks like he thinks he's Don Quixote."

"It is highly unlikely that the captain is suffering from an identity
crisis," she countered.

"Yeah, well the knot on his head seems to be controlling his actions a
little," Trip retorted.

She looked at him a long moment before nodding. "Wait here while I
change," she ordered, shutting the door in his face.

"Yes ma'am," he grumbled sarcastically.

Five minutes later he was practically climbing the walls. "Took you
long enough," he snapped when she reappeared, fully clothed.

"I took the liberty of waking the senior staff and asking them to meet
me in the briefing room in thirty minutes," she replied calmly. "Now
tell me what you know about the captain's condition."

"Well, he came into the mess about 10 minutes ago, looking like he was
'bout ready to keel over, you know what I mean? He had this lump on
his head and he was all washed out. so anyway, I asked him how he was
doing."

"Did he respond at all?" T'Pol interrupted.

Trip snorted in response. "Oh yeah he responded! He looked at me and
asked how I'd escaped their vile clutches. Then he called me Sancho."

"Sancho?"

"That's the name of Don Quixote's squire in the story," he explained.

"I see. And did he happen to mention whose vile clutches he thought
you had escaped?" she queried.

"The Enchanter, Don Quixote's arch enemy."

"Hm. Carry on with your story."

"So I told him as much of the truth as I think he'll believe. He knows
we're on a starship and it's our home."

"What was his reaction?"

"He seemed to think that traveling the stars righting the wrongs of
the galaxy was worthy work for a knight," Trip replied wrly.

By this time, they'd reached the mess hall. T'Pol started to walk in
but Trip put a hand on her arm to stop her. "I should warn you, he'll
probably call you."

But it was too late. Jon saw her soon as she stepped into the doorway,
and his eyes lit up with a soft glow. "Dulcinea!" he breathed.

---
Chapter 2: Sing Away Sorrow
---

"My sweet Dulcinea!" he exclaimed, moving forward to take her hand in
his. "I have found you at last!"

So saying, he bent to kiss her hand but T'Pol withdrew it before he
could. She looked to Trip for help, but he just shrugged and grinned.
Bringing her eyes back to Jon's adoring gaze, she said, "I believe you
have mistaken me for someone else, Captain. My name is not Dulcinea,
it is T'Pol."

Her protests went unheard by Jon, who was caught up in the joy of
having found her. "I have looked for you for so long," he confided.
"You've often appeared to me in my dreams; I knew I would find you
someday, my lovely Dulcinea."

"Don't knight errants usually sing a song or recite a poem or somethin
when they find their lady loves?" Trip asked, incorrigible to the
core, grinning unrepentantly when T'Pol gave him a displeased look.

Jon's entire countenance brightened as he considered this. "Indeed!"
he readily agreed. "And I believe I have the perfect song for my
perfect lady."

Trip choked a little when he heard the saccharine sweetness in his
voice, but it was too late to stop him now. Jon was already starting
to hum the first few bars, refreshing his memory. Trip looked over at
T'Pol apologetically, but she just raised her eyebrows and asked, "Did
you know he would sing to me?"

Gulping visibly, he desperately said, "Ah, can anyone really know what
someone else will do?"

T'Pol's reply was cut off when Jon started singing the first stanza,
looking straight into her eyes and holding his hands over his heart in
courtly fashion.

"I have dreamed of thee too long, never seen thee or touched thee but
loved thee with all of my heart."

As he began the second stanza, Trip started to smile at the sight of
his captain serenading his Vulcan science officer. He quickly schooled
his features into an expressionless mask when saw the look on T'Pol's
face however and simply gestured for her to pay attention to the rest
of the song. "Ya don't wanna miss this do ya?" he asked cheekily.

"Dulcinea, Dulcinea, I see heaven when I see thee! Dulcinea! And thy
name is like a prayer an angel whispers: Dulcinea, Dulcinea."

Jon reached out to take T'Pol's hand once more as he started the
second verse, miming some of the actions mentioned, but this time she
held still, playing the part he had cast her in.

"If I reach out to thee, Do not tremble and shrink From the touch of
my hand On thy head.

Let my fingers but see Thou art warm and alive And no phantom to fade
In the air.

Dulcinea, Dulcinea, I have sought thee, sung thee, dreamed
thee-Dulcinea! Now I've found thee and the world shall know thy glory;
Dulcinea, Dulcinea."

"Or at least the whole ship will anyway," Trip muttered as the last
note faded away.

In response, T'Pol shot him a look that could have killed a Klingon at
twenty paces. "No one will hear of this, is that clear Commander?"

"Yes ma'am," Trip agreed, subconsciously coming to attention when he
heard the vehemence in her voice.

"Good. I will not have the crew mocking the captain because he mistook
me for his Dulcinea," she added in a voice that promised wicked
punishments if even a whisper of this leaked back to her.

Trip gulped and opened his mouth to pledge his secrecy, but he was
interrupted by the captain. "Excuse me my lady, I do not mean to pry,
but how is that you are acquainted with Sancho?" The look on his face
was truly befuddled and was a perfect compliment to the panicked
expression on the faces of his two senior staff members.

"Uh. that is." Trip stammered before T'Pol took over.

"A starship is a small space Captain. Sancho and I met in the corridor
just this evening."

Trip looked at her, surprised. She'd managed to find a way to answer
the question without lying, and it sounded good too. He shifted his
gaze to Archer, anxious to see if he'd believed her. To his great
relief, Jon was already smiling. "I see. Thank you for explaining, my
lady," he said with a courtly bow.

"You are most welcome Captain. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I must leave
now, but may I talk to Com. to Sancho for a moment before going?"
T'Pol asked, covering her slip nicely.

"Of course!"

T'Pol walked toward the door, motioning for Trip to follow her. Before
stepping into the corridor, she turned to him and in a low voice said,
"I have to be in the briefing room in five minutes Commander, please
keep me apprised if the situation changes at all."

He looked at her askance. "Shouldn't I come with ya?" he asked,
confused.

"It would be best if you remained here to keep the captain from going
anywhere. I will attempt to keep this incident among the senior staff
only, but that will only work if no one else sees him. Besides, we
cannot be certain he won't put himself in danger."

Trip nodded understandingly, knowing she was right. To be honest, even
though being a squire wasn't one of the best experiences of his life,
it was fun in a way; plus he'd never forgive himself if something
happened to Jon. "Alright then, but let me know what y'all come up
with, okay?" he requested. With a curt nod, she disappeared down the
corridor and he turned back to his knight.

"Well Sancho, what kind of adventure do you suppose we will find
today?" Jon asked jovially. Trip just shook his head-it wasn't going
to be easy keeping him out of trouble. Chapter 3: Fair and Softly Goes
Far

When T'Pol arrived, Malcolm, Hoshi, and Doctor Phlox were seated
around the table waiting for her. "I apologize for my tardiness," she
told them. "There was a matter I had to see to before meeting you. The
captain is. otherwise occupied and won't be joining us."

That information caused a few raised eyebrows, but it still left the
question of the whereabouts of the two remaining senior staff.
Glancing at the two men and then back at T'Pol, Hoshi asked the
question that was on all of their minds. "Are Travis and Commander
Tucker coming?"

"Ensign Mayweather has been working double shifts while Ensign Thomas
is sick, so I chose not to wake him," T'Pol answered. "Commander
Tucker is taking care of a delicate matter and could not join us."

"Sub-commander, I think I speak for all of us when I say we are most
curious to hear what is on your mind. In fact, the little bits of
information you've just given us puzzle me even more," Phlox
commented.

"I understand that, Doctor. I will begin my explanation shortly, but
first I have a question. Are any of you familiar with the story of Don
Quixote?"

"You can't mean to say you woke us all up to discuss literature,"
Malcolm queried, incredulity coloring his tone.

T'Pol opened her mouth to rebuke him then closed it, remembering that
had been her own reaction as well. "I'm sure the Sub-commander has a
point to this Lieutenant," Hoshi cut in.

"Of course. I apologize for my tone ma'am," Malcolm said stiffly. "To
answer your question, I know the basics of the story but not much
beyond that."

"I read it when I first learned Spanish, but that was years ago,"
Hoshi admitted. "I'm afraid I don't remember much more than Lt. Reed."

All eyes turned to Dr. Phlox who was shaking his head slightly. "I'm
afraid I have never had the pleasure of reading the book. However," he
said, his expression brightening, "I did see the musical production
'Man of La Mancha' while I was on Earth. Musicals give such an insight
into human culture and society."

"Yes they do, Doctor," T'Pol interjected quickly when she saw he was
about to launch into one of his cultural dissertations. She moved her
gaze from the amiable doctor to the worried look on Hoshi's face,
resting it on Malcolm's frankly contemplative look before speaking
again. "It seems the captain has suffered an injury to the head which
has left him believing he is Don Quixote. He has ventured into the
mess hall looking for an adventure, and he claims Commander Tucker is
his loyal squire, Sancho."

Shock filled the room with silence as her words sank in. Phlox's
medical concerns kicked in first when he realized why he was present.
"Where precisely was this blow?" he asked seriously.

"It was just below his left temple."

"Did he seem to be a danger to himself or others?" Malcolm asked,
shaking himself out of his stupor and going straight into full
security mode.

"No, he was simply speaking of quests to be won," she answered. "He is
quite harmless; in fact when I left him with Commander Tucker, he was
singing," she added, purposely leaving out the fact that he was
singing to her.

Phlox looked at her sharply, a speculative gleam in his eyes, but
whatever he might have said was cut off by Hoshi. "What will Star
Fleet Command and the Vulcans says when they hear about this?"

"They aren't going to find out," T'Pol replied curtly. "As long as the
captain regains his senses before he goes on duty, there is no need to
report this."

"Yes, but how do you intend to go about that?" Malcolm quizzed. "In
fiction, the hero with amnesia is usually rendered another blow that
brings back his memories, but I don't know if that really works and
frankly I'm not sure I'm willing to hit my captain over the head with
a blunt object."

"It's a crude method, but yes it would work," Phlox verified.
"However, I believe I have a cure that would be much less painful,
both to the captain and to your career. With your permission,
Sub-commander?"

"Of course Doctor."

"I have been working with several of the specimen we have retrieved so
far, experimenting with new remedies. One of them, the Vorkr needle
toothed rat, produces a saliva which should be useful in repairing
neurological damage. It also reduces swelling, specifically swelling
of brain tissue. It should prove most efficient in restoring Captain
Archer to his former self."

"Is there any chance he could have a negative reaction to it?" T'Pol
inquired.

"Well of course allergies are always a concern when using new
medications," he said. "I assure you that I have seen no indications
that it would react poorly to human physiology in general, but I would
prefer to have Captain Archer brought to the sickbay for treatment so
I can monitor his reaction as I administer it."

"Shall I collect him for you?" Malcolm asked.

T'Pol looked at hi m with barely concealed irritation. "You can
collect old coins or stamps Lieutenant; when you are speaking about
your captain it is more correct to ask if you should assist him to
sickbay."

"Again, I apologize. Shall I see if the captain needs assistance in
getting to sickbay?"

"Yes."

"Sub-commander, I don't mean to be pessimistic, but one of the things
I do remember from the story is that Don Quixote was quite happy in
his delusions and resisted being 'cured.' What if the captain doesn't
want to go to sickbay?" Hoshi questioned. "What should Lt. Reed do
then?"

T'Pol fixed her gaze on Malcolm, her eyes boring into his as she
responded. "Then he calls for reinforcements."

"Do you mean a security detail?" he asked for clarity, his brow
furrowed in confusion.

"No Mr. Reed, I don't want anyone knowing about this besides the four
of us and Commander Tucker. Take Ensign Sato with you, but have her
remain outside the mess hall. If you find you cannot persuade Captain
Archer to join you in sickbay, ask for her assistance. Dr. Phlox and I
will also be standing by if we are needed.

"In the meantime we will be preparing sickbay for the captain's
arrival. Remember, the longer this takes the likelier it is that word
will leak out. I'm sure I don't have to tell you to proceed with
discretion." Seeing their nods of assent, she said, "Good."

Recognizing their dismissal, Malcolm and Hoshi headed toward the mess
hall. After they had left, Phlox turned to T'Pol and commented, "You
know, I really don't need your help. The serum is already formulated,
all that remains is loading the correct dosage in the hypospray."

"I am aware of that Doctor," she replied somewhat coolly. "However, I
have some questions I wish to ask you about amnesia and how it affects
humans and I would prefer to do so in private."

"I thought that might be the case," he said with a smile. "Well, we're
not getting anything done standing here, shall we go to sickbay?"

She was about to answer in the affirmative when the comm beeped.
"T'Pol here," she answered, hitting the button.

"Sub-commander, did you guys come up with anything?" Trip asked, a
hint of desperation in his tone.

In the background T'Pol could hear raised voices and some sort of
commotion. "Has something happened, Commander?"

Just then Travis' voice came over the comm. "I am not a knight!" he
insisted. "I'm not even a lieutenant, I'm just the ship's helmsman!!"

"Ya hear that?" It was Trip again, the desperation now covered up by
an edge of humor. "I think the cap'n has Travis confused for someone
else. You'd better get down here before he enlists the entire crew in
his crusade."

"The doctor believes he has a cure. Lt. Reed is on his way now to
accompany the captain to sickbay," she told him.

"That's the best news I've heard all day!" he announced. "Tucker out."

Before T'Pol could close the connection on her end, she heard one last
frantic comment from Travis. "I told you, I don't have a sword!"

---
Chapter 4: The Golden Helmsman of Mambrino
---

Trip was stunned by the sight before him when he whirled around to
take in the action. Apparently while he'd been talking to T'Pol, Jon
had gone into the galley looking for a sword. "I'm just glad Chef
keeps the knife drawer locked," he muttered as he glanced at the
utensil his captain was holding.

"No sword?" Archer bellowed, brandishing a long handled wooden spoon
under Travis' nose. "What manner of knight travels without a sword?"

Travis flailed his arms in agitation, pushing the makeshift sword to
the side. "Look Captain, I told you I'm."

"Just in charge of our transportation," Trip broke in quickly. "Now if
it's okay with you, I need to talk with him for a minute."

"Of course Sancho," Jon answered, gesturing with his spoon while
retreating a few paces and turning to watch the stars through the
porthole.

"Commander, what is going on here?" the helmsman asked sotto voce.
"Why is the captain waving a spoon around like a sword, and why is he
calling you Sancho?"

"It's kinda hard to explain Travis. You see that bump on his head?
Seems the cap'n hit his head and now he thinks he's Don Quixote."

"The crazy Spanish guy?"

"That's the one," Trip affirmed.

Travis considered that for a minute, then gave the engineer a worried
look. "He will go back to normal, won't he Commander?"

"Oh yeah," Trip reassured him. "Malcolm's coming to take him to
sickbay and Doc'll fix him up in no time." Malcolm stepped into the
mess at that moment, as if he was on cue. "See? What'd I tell ya?
Here's Malcolm now."

The two men watched as the security officer approached the stargazing
captain. "Excuse me Captain," he said in a no-nonsense voice. "I don't
mean to disturb you, but there's something you should see."

Travis took a seat and watched, agape, as Jon slowly turned toward his
tactical officer, a forceful expression on his face. "I will go
nowhere with you," he stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Malcolm faltered a moment before regaining his composure. "I'm not
sure you understand, Captain," he began.

"Enough!" Archer roared. "I am not a captain, I am a knight, and I
understand more than you realize Dr. Carrasco! You come to lure me
into a trap under the guise of needing my help. Go tell The Enchanter
I am wise to his plans," he sneered before turning his back to the
door once more.

Poor Malcolm looked at Trip, bewildered, but the other man just
shrugged his shoulders and motioned for him to leave. Shaking his
head, the lieutenant walked out of the mess hall and told Hoshi, "He's
all yours," before continuing on to sickbay to report to T'Pol and Dr.
Phlox.

The young ensign drew a deep breath, trying to rid herself of her
anxiety. Then, squaring her shoulders, she entered the mess hall.
"Good evening my lord," she said in a soft, cultured voice. She'd
overheard Trip call the captain "my lord" and crossed her fingers that
she was doing the right thing. "I was wondering if you might join me
for a stroll around the ship," she suggested.

"Ah Antonia," Jon replied quietly as he faced her. "My dearest niece,
have they enlisted your help in this plot against me as well?" he
asked, a pained look entering his eyes.

"This is almost better than a movie," Travis whispered to Trip who had
sat down at the table with him.

"Shh. I think we're just getting to the good part," he said with a
grin, pointing back to Hoshi and Jon.

"I'm afraid I do not follow, my lord," Hoshi said, confused. "Who is
plotting against you?"

"The Enchanter and your fiance, Dr. Carrasco, of course." Taking her
in shocked countenance, he mused, "Perhaps they did not tell you, but
it is no matter. I must not leave here Antonia, much depends upon it.
You do understand, don't you my dear?" he questioned, taking her hands
in his.

When she nodded mutely, he said, "Good," then kissed her hands and
released them. "Sancho, would you be so kind as to walk my niece to
the door?" he requested.

"Of course my lord," Trip agreed, mirth dancing in his eyes as he rose
from his seat and took the arm Hoshi offered.

"Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear me Commander?" she hissed.
"If you and Travis so much as hint."

"I wouldn't dream of it my lady," he replied, eyes wide with
innocence. "Oh, do be sure to tell your fiancé hi for me," he added,
leaving standing at the door, jaw dropped and eyes flashing.

Just he as Trip made his escape, Travis stood up and said, "Actually,
if you'll excuse me, my lord, I have to get up early in the morning so
I should be leaving now. I could walk your niece to her quarters if
you would like."

"Thank you, kind sir, that would be most appreciated," Jon answered
with a short bow. "I bid you good night."

"Good night sir," Travis said with a yawn, walking out of the mess
hall with Hoshi.

---
Chapter 5: Pure and Chaste From Afar


".So I tried to explain why he needed to come with me, but he became
very agitated," Malcolm informed T'Pol. "He called me Dr. Carrasco and
told me to tell the The Enchanter that his plan wouldn't work. Are you
sure he's not a danger to others?" he asked skeptically.

"This is becoming more complex than I had envisioned," she mused,
glancing over at Dr. Phlox who was busy preparing the serum. "Doctor,
I believe Commander Tucker said The Enchanter was Don Quixote's
archenemy. Are you familiar with a character named Dr. Carrasco?"

"Dr. Carrasco," he pondered, holding a vial in mid-air. "Ah yes, the
learned fiancé of Don Quixote's niece Antonia. 'A man who carries his
own importance as though afraid of breaking it." He started to say
more but paused when he saw the indignant look that crossed the
security officer's face. "It's just a line out of the musical
Lieutenant," he sid, finishing the process of loading the serum into
the hypospray and setting the empty vial down onto the counter.

"But why would the captain believe Lieutenant Reed to be this Dr.
Carrasco?" T'Pol questioned.

"The good doctor was the primary person behind the effort to get Don
Quixote to face up to reality," Phlox answered. "I must admit I find
it interesting that the captain seems to remember both halves of the
role, not just the delusional part."

"It is apparent the captain will go nowhere with you, Lieutenant. Did
you inform Ensign Sato that you would need her assistance?"

Malcolm nodded curtly, obviously still upset by the turn of events.
"Yes Sub-commander," he replied. "She went in just as I was leaving. I
can only hope the captain."

"Thinks I'm his niece," Hoshi finished for him as she walked through
the door. "I'm guessing from your blush that you've already heard
about our new relationship?"

"The doctor told me, yes," he replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"You can relax Lieutenant, I'm not expecting you to buy me a ring. Now
my uncle might feel differently about it," she teased before catching
the quelling look T'Pol sent her way. "I'm sorry, I know that was
inappropriate," she hastily backpedaled. "I just feel so helpless and
it's making me nervous."

"That is understandable Ensign," T'Pol told her. "I gather you were
also unable to persuade Captain Archer to come with you?"

Hoshi nodded miserably, saying, "I tried, I even played along when he
called me Antonia, but he just stood there and told me he couldn't
leave the mess hall because Lieutenant Reed and The Enchanter were
plotting against him."

"Very well, I will go myself. In the meantime, I think it would be
best if you and Lieutenant Reed were not here when I return with the
captain. If you will go back to the briefing room, I will inform you
of any updates.

"Yes ma'am," they chorused and walked out of sickbay together.

After they were gone, T'Pol turned to Phlox. "I do not anticipate that
this will take very long," she informed him. "However, in the event
that I am unsuccessful it may become necessary for you to go to the
mess hall and administer the treatment there."

"I doubt that will be necessary T'Pol. After all, Don Quixote had
complete confidence in his Dulcinea," Phlox commented casually.

Her back still turned toward him, T'Pol forced herself to respond
calmly. "What makes you think he will call me Dulcinea?" she asked.

"It's only logical actually," he replied in a conversational tone.
"After all, there are only three female roles in The Man of La Mancha,
and I somehow doubt Captain Archer sees you as his housekeeper."

The Vulcan swallowed as she slowly turned to face him. "Doctor, could
you tell me something about human delusions?" she requested.

"Of course Sub-commander! What is it you would like to know?"

"What is it that determines how the delusions fit into reality?"

"Ah. You mean why does the captain believe Commander Tucker to be his
squire instead of Lieutenant Reed and why does he see you as Dulcinea
instead of Antonia?" She nodded briefly so he continued. "The only one
who can truly answer your question is the captain himself, but if I
was to guess I'd say he's transposing the relationships of the
characters with those he shares with his friends."

"What do you mean?" she inquired.

"Well, for example the relationship between a knight and his squire
bears a certain resemblance to that of best friends, and it is
certainly no surprise that he seems himself as Ensign Sato's
protective uncle," the doctor explained.

"There is a flaw to your logic Doctor," T'Pol pointed out. "By that
reasoning, the captain has. romantic feelings for me."

Phlox seemed to consider that for a moment, stroking his chin lightly
before shrugging his shoulders. "Yes, there's the rub, isn't it?" he
asked rhetorically. "Well like I said, the only one who can truly
answer your question is Captain Archer. If you bring him to me so I
can see to his recovery I'm sure you'll have an opportunity to ask
him" he added nonchalantly.

T'Pol's eyes widened and she whirled around, activating the door
release. "Of course Doctor.. I'll return as soon as possible," she
said, rushing out of the room.

Phlox chuckled after the door had shut behind her. "You know, I don't
think she liked that idea," he confided to his bat. "I doubt I've ever
seen a Vulcan in such a hurry!" Chapter 6: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

T'Pol could hear Jon's ramblings long before she reached the mess
hall. "I cannot sit here idle any longer Sancho," he declared. "It is
not seemly for a knight to laze about as though he had nothing better
to do. I must continue my quest!"

The Sub-commander's quick mind realized that this was the way to get
him to sickbay. "If I phrase it as a plea for help, he will feel honor
bound to come with me," she murmured as she walked into the mess.

Archer spotted her instantly, his smile lighting up the room.
"Dulcinea!" he exclaimed. "What fortunate turn of events has brought
you back to this place?"

"I regret my lord that is trouble, not fortune, that brings me to
you," she replied, affecting as much distress as could be expected
from a stoic Vulcan.

Apparently it was enough, for his smile gave way to a look of concern.
"Is there any way I can be of service, my lady?" he offered anxiously.

"Could you come with me?" she asked. "Sancho is welcome to join us of
course," she added hastily, catching the glance he threw back at Trip.

He stroked his chin, considering that for a moment before nodding
slowly. "We shall be glad to help, eh Sancho?"

"Anything for the lady," Trip agreed with a grin.

"Follow me then," T'Pol said, stepping into the passageway and moving
toward sickbay.

The trio walked in silence for a few minutes before Archer's curiosity
got the best of him. "What exactly is it you need?" he inquired.

When T'Pol didn't answer immediately, Trip crossed his fingers and
prayed that she could think of an answer-and fast. He breathed a sigh
of relief when he heard her say, "There is something wrong in our
sickbay, and the doctor requested that I obtain your help."

"I see," he answered, though it was obvious from his furrowed brow and
puzzled tone that he didn't.

T'Pol took a moment to look at him over her shoulder. "We are almost
to sickbay my lord. I promise this will make sense when we get there,"
she assured him when she caught sight of his confused expression.

He smiled beatifically and said, "I'm sure it will, my sweet
Dulcinea."

His expression of pure infatuation and besotted tone of voice were
almost becoming too much for the Vulcan to handle, but luckily for her
they had arrived at their destination. "This is sickbay," she told
him, opening the door and gesturing for him to go first.

"What kind of cur do you think I am?" he asked, aghast. "A gentleman
always allows a lady to proceed before him," he insisted, refusing to
move until she had walked through the door.

Making no attempts to dissuade him, T'Pol entered sickbay first,
followed by the two men. "Doctor, I have petitioned the knight for his
assistance, as you requested," she announced, hoping Dr. Phlox would
catch on.

"Ah yes, thank you Dulcinea," Phlox responded. "Now sir," he said,
turning to Archer as if to present his problem. Instead, he frowned,
the bruise on the captain's head capturing his attention. "That's
quite a bump you have there," he commented. "Why don't you let me
treat it before we talk?"

"I would be most grateful Doctor. This infernal pounding in my head is
getting quite distracting," Jon admitted ruefully.

"I imagine it is. Just take a seat here and I'll get you fixed up in
no time," the doctor promised.

Jon obligingly sat down on one of the biobeds while Phlox reached for
his hypospray. "Here you go Captain," he said, administering the drug.

"I'm not." Jon started before losing consciousness.

"Is everything as it should be Doctor?" T'Pol asked, startled by this
turn of events.

"What? Oh! You mean because he's unconscious? Yes yes, that's to be
expected. I added a mild sedative to the serum. It occurred to me that
on the off chance this doesn't work, it would be easier to handle him
if he wasn't awake. Now then," he said, picking up a scanner, "it
appears that his brain activity is returning to normal. Barring any
complications, the captain should be his old self by the time alpha
shift goes on duty."

"Whew! That's a relief," Trip muttered, wiping his hand across his
brow. "I mean, no offense Sub-commander, but I thought I was gonna
puke if I heard him call you Dulcinea one more time."

"To be offended is an emotion Commander, and even if it was not, it
would be an illogical reaction when you are merely expressing your
relief that the captain will recover," T'Pol replied curtly.

"Yeah whatever," he answered with a smirk. "Now if you'll excuse me,
I'd like to get back to bed." With that, he left sickbay in favor of
his own quarters and a few hours of shut eye.

T'Pol lingered a while longer, watching her sleeping captain. "Is he
showing any negative reaction to the medicine?" she asked.

Phlox hid his smile by glancing down at his scanner. "No
Sub-commander, everything appears to be completely normal," he told
her.

She nodded, her eyes still not meeting his. "Will he be able to return
to duty tomorrow?" she questioned.

The doctor frowned, considering her request. "I would prefer to keep
him here for observation," he answered after a minute. "That's a nasty
lump he's got, he could have a concussion. Actually that's quite
likely considering his delusions. Now unless I'm mistaken, Lieutenant
Reed and Ensign Sato are waiting to hear if we were successful or
not," he reminded her.

"Thank you Doctor," she told him, looking up at him as she did. "I
would appreciate it if you would let me answer any questions he may
have myself, if you would inform me when he is released?" she
requested.

"Of course," he replied as she left without a backward glance, intent
on telling her subordinates that the mini-crisis was over.

Hoshi practically pounced on her the minute the door opened. "How is
the captain ma'am? Did it work?" she asked anxiously.

"The captain is currently sleeping in sickbay," T'Pol told them.
"Doctor Phlox assures me that the medication shows every sign of being
effective, and as of yet there are no negative side effects."

"Will he be on the bridge tomorrow then?" Malcolm questioned.

"No, the doctor wishes to keep him for observation."

Hoshi looked at her, a worried frown settling on her face. "Then how
are we going to keep this out of the logs?"

Before T'Pol could open her mouth, Malcolm answered for her. "It's
simple Hoshi. All anyone needs to know is that the captain hit his
head and got a concussion. We don't need to mention his delusions or
the fact that he betrothed us to one another," he said with a grin,
getting her back for her earlier comments about their relationship.

Hoshi shot him a dirty look and then said, "Oh, but what if I want
them to know?"

Malcolm started to argue with her, but T'Pol cut him off. "No one will
know anything more than the medical facts," she ordered. "And now may
I suggest we all retire? It is only four hours until our shift
starts."

"You asked for that one Lieutenant," Hoshi told him as they left the
briefing room together.

"No I didn't," Malcolm protested. "I was just." The rest of his
statement was indecipherable to T'Pol as she walked in the opposite
direction to reach her quarters.

---
8 Hours Later
---

A low mumble was the first indication Dr. Phlox had that his patient
was waking up. "What was that Captain?" he inquired, picking up a
scanner and walking toward the biobed.

"I said, 'Could someone get the marching band out of my head?" Archer
repeated, more clearly this time.

"Ah. Well I'm afraid that marching band is courtesy of the bump you
gave yourself last night," the doctor informed him.

"Last night? Wait a minute, how did I get here?" he asked, finally
coherent enough to take in his surroundings.

Phlox looked at him a moment before answering. "Do you know where you
are?" he asked finally.

"I'm in sickbay."

"And what's your name?"

"Jonathan Archer. Doc, what's going on here?" Jon asked, somewhat
annoyed by the third degree.

"What do you do for a living, Jonathan?" Dr. Phlox queried, ignoring
the captain's question.

"I'm the captain of the Starship Enterprise," he answered, now
completely irritated. "And before you ask me anything else, my
father's name was Henry, I have a dog named Porthos, and unless
something has gone very wrong we've been in the Delphic Expanse for
about six weeks."

"No, nothing is wrong Captain," Phlox said with a huge smile. In fact,
everything seems to be exactly as it should be."

"Glad to hear it. Now would you mind telling me what that little game
of twenty questions was about?" Jon demanded.

"It seems that early this morning you fell and hit your head. You
were. well, let's just say we're glad you're back to normal," he said,
evading the question. "And before you ask me anything else,
Sub-commander T'Pol requested that I allow her to explain what
happened after you are released this evening."

Anticipating his protests, he neatly sidestepped the conversation by
changing the subject. "At the moment, I'll call Chef and have a tray
sent for you, and then you ought to get more rest."

"Okay Doctor, you win. But somebody has some explaining to do," he
glowered.

"And I'm sure you'll get the explanation you want. Later," Phlox
assured him cheerfully.

---
Epilogue: Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady
---

Being released from sickbay had done little to improve Jon's mood. The
only difference was that now instead of complaining to the doctor and
pestering him to tell him what had happened, he was pacing the
confines of his room, complaining to Porthos. He was in a fine state
when his door chimed, signaling that someone wanted to enter. "Come
in," he fairly growled in response.

"Captain," T'Pol said evenly, taking in his state of mind as she
joined him in the cabin.

"Sub-commander, I sure hope you can explain what happened. Every time
I asked the doctor he just ignored my questions and said you would
answer them." He glared at her, waiting for her response.

"I assure you I will answer all your questions, but first I must ask
one of my own."

Archer threw his hands up in the air, giving up on getting any real
answers. "Fine fine, what is it you want to know?"

"What do you remember about last night?" she asked, piercing him with
a glance.

He sighed, thinking before he answered. "I was watching a recording of
my high school play and then." He frowned, trying to remember what had
happened next. "I think I must have tripped over something and hit my
head, which would certainly explain this," he commented, rubbing the
knot on his head. "But what does that have to do with the big
mystery?"

"Is that all you remember?" she questioned cautiously.

"Hm. When I was out I had a pretty bizarre dream about being Don
Quixote, off on some quest. That'll teach me not to watch Man of La
Mancha right before bed," he said wryly.

"That's interesting. If I may ask Captain, what was Don Quixote's
quest?" T'Pol queried, unable to restrain her curiosity.

Staring out the portal at the stars, Jon quoted the lines from memory.
"Call nothing thine own except thy soul; Love not what thou art but
only what thou may become; Do not pursue pleasure, for thou mayst have
the misfortune to overtake it; Live in the vision of the one for whom
great deeds are done- Dulcinea."

The last word trigged his memory and he slowly turned around to face
her. "Dulcinea," he said again, letting the name linger in the air
like a caress.

Holding her gaze with his own, he took a step toward her. "T'Pol," he
said quietly.

"Yes Captain?" she asked, unable to look away no matter how much she
wished she could.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?"

She shrugged, finally tearing her eyes away from his. "Who can truly
say what is a dream and what is reality?" she answered.

"T'Pol, look at me please," he commanded softly. Reluctantly, she
brought gaze back to meet his; only then did he continue. "Is it. an
impossible dream?" he wondered aloud.

She stared at him, arching one brow. "Captain, I have lived with
humans long enough to know that nothing is truly impossible," she
replied enigmatically before turning to leave.

"T'Pol." His voice stopped her in the doorway. "Sweet dreams," he
whispered.

Without turning to face him, she simply replied, "For you as well, my
lord."

---

Well, this is the end. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I
really appreciate all the comments. You'll notice the ending wasn't
"Oh yay we're together now." My muse and I wrestled over that one but
we eventually decided that wouldn't fit in with the rest of the story,
so we left it open. Now a group of A/T shippers have decided to write
a Virtual Season, with this being the first story of the season. Some
things will be wrapped up, some won't.