Fic: Cry Havoc (1/14)
Title: Cry Havoc
Spoilers: Harbinger
Summary: The evolution of Trip and T'Pol's relationship following the events in 'Harbinger'.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
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"Doesn't mean we can't keep doing the neuropressure, though."
T'Pol did not flinch to an untrained eye, did not so much as pause to an outward observer, but the man sitting directly across from her was far from either. Commander Tucker's aptitude at reading the Vulcan science officer was uncanny, heightened, and she knew he perceived her infinitesimal flicker of being caught off-guard in the partially turned away, cant-head look he cast in her direction.
T'Pol soon had her cup of tea at her lips, a feeble but physical barrier against the chief engineer, and as she took a sip her eyes did a very human thing... they darted. She could hardly help the gesture... she was uncomfortable. There was something charged, intimate, in Trip's seemingly off-hand comment. She knew him well, could read his tones sometimes better than she comprehended his colorful speech, and she knew all he'd just said, all he'd insisted, was for nought. He would not forget their 'encounter' last night... at least not any time soon.
T'Pol swallowed with deliberation, lowered her cup, and met his gaze head-on. She would have to be the pillar of strength, the wellspring providing enforcement and reiteration that their 'experience' last night was not the prelude to something more. It could not be, at any cost.
Her manner was cool and collected as she said, "Until it has been established that you would no longer experience sleep disturbances without the neuropressure it is only logical our sessions continue. The Enterprise would suffer the inefficiency of a chronically exhausted chief engineer."
Trip watched her a moment, no more than three seconds, but in that time a stony resolution came over his face. As good as T'Pol was at reading his vocal intonations and nonverbal communication, he was just as good at reading her. He picked up on her demeanor, the chill dismissal of their previous closeness standing as stark reaffirmation of everything she'd said only moments ago, and quickly he adapted to match her.
Trip became distant, professional, without a centimeter of movement in his body posture or his facial expression.
T'Pol blinked calmly as she watched him transform. A small seed of relief budded within her to see him reverting to the colleague she'd befriended. This was the only way it could be. She would not allow this human to sway her, to affect her.
"Can't have the ship fallin' apart on account a me, can we?" Trip commented dryly, if not with a hint of sincerity, then he sighed, defeated. His voice lost the measure of acidity it had gained when he said, "I better get back ta engineerin', I have some things to do. See ya later, Sub-commander."
T'Pol nodded, "Commander," then watched impassively as he rose from his seat and made his way out of the mess hall. Her gaze lingered on the door in the wake of his departure only a fraction of a second before dropping back down to her cup of tea.
T'Pol saw from the corner of her eye the crewmen at the table near her. She knew they had not heard, human hearing was too poor to register the hushed conversation she and the commander had had, but still they were attentive to her solitary breakfast.
T'Pol refused to look at them, not because she was made uneasy by their covert scrutiny but because it would make them uncomfortable. T'Pol had grown accustomed to the reaction she still engendered from many among the crew. She had been accepted as a member of the Enterprise crew, respected for the skills she possessed, but on a personal level many of the humans still preferred to relate to her from a distance and through an intermediary such as Captain Archer.
T'Pol had confessed to herself some time ago that the awkwardness was not entirely one-sided. On the whole T'Pol was still poor at human relations. Theirs was a culture difficult for Vulcans to grasp, filled with emotional nuances and subtleties nonexistent in T'Pol's native society. It was a select handful of humans aboard Enterprise around whom T'Pol was not put at some appreciable measure of disquiet. Commander Tucker was one of those few.
T'Pol, unconcerned with the looks slanted toward her from the human diners, lifted her head and pensively considered the doorway to the mess hall. Truth be told, Trip was the human, against all logic, that she was now most comfortable around. For a long time T'Pol felt closest to Captain Archer, soothed by the layer of professionalism between them, a buffer zone with which she was familiar. She had been resistant to explore human companionship beyond that safety zone.
Then the neuropressure sessions with Commander Tucker began.
T'Pol took in a short breath as she remembered that initial impromptu session. When Trip had first administered neuropressure to her she'd been somewhat startled by his actions. With minimal direction he found the exact neural node and with little prompting exerted more or less the proper amount of stimulating pressure. T'Pol had been braced for pain from ineptitude, but Trip had surprised her.
'Because his are the hands of precision, trained for both demanding and delicate work,' T'Pol mused as she sipped again at her tea. It was one of many facts about Charles Tucker that she had gleaned through interactions with him. Trip was without question a man who knew his hands well, and was very in tune with their movements. T'Pol had never complimented Trip his dexterity, the human utterly unaware of how he'd impressed the unflappable science officer. Instead, she had settled far too easily and far too quickly into an unstrained comfort in his presence, engaging in close and frequent physical contact with him, that had ultimately led to this.
T'Pol could not allow this progression to escalate. What happened last night could not recur. Her companionship with Commander Tucker had become dangerous; her Vulcan veneer of detached control wavered around Trip. Neither he nor she was prepared for the consequences of any further emotional entanglement between them.
T'Pol made this decision for the both of them, vindicated in her certainty it was both logical and right, and finished her tea with outwardly untouched calm. It was a stubborn, buried part of her, a piece of herself she fought with all her Vulcan control, that mourned the loss of an interpersonal closeness that had been growing and spreading with illogical tendrils of comfort and peace even as it ignited confusion and fear.
It was fortunate that T'Pol was Vulcan and none of these emotions, these feelings, could alter her judgment. Such human failings that might have bested another would not challenge T'Pol's reigning logic... certainly not on this, so personal a matter.
*****
Wonderfully feminine form, more angular than a human woman's, sharper and more severe in body as well as visage. Her skin tone bronzed, tanned but tinted just enough, enough to distinguish the expanse of her tantalizing flesh as exotic to his senses.
Commander Charles Tucker's lips thinned and his gaze narrowed in intense concentration as he focused on the diagnostic read-outs displayed in front of him. Engineering was a quiet hum of efficiency surrounding him, Trip's team going about their work diligently, sparing now and then the usual small talk and idle conversation.
Commander Tucker had not partaken of any of the amiable chit-chat in the two hours he'd been on duty, since leaving T'Pol in the mess hall at breakfast, and his people had picked up soon enough that he wasn't in the mood to be approached for anything less than ship's business.
With his eyes soaking up the sight of her, feeding on the carnal presence she was creating. His gaze returning to hers after what seemed an era visually trekking her Sahara skin.
Trip glowered at the computer access panel before him as though it were to blame and mentally attacked the numbers and measures with a furious singularity of purpose. It wasn't that he was faced with anything particularly difficult, simple routine warp engine checks... he just kept getting distracted.
That was being kind, because 'distraction' was a mild word for what Trip was experiencing at that moment. He had learned to work through distraction in the academy, but he'd never quite been distracted like this. He couldn't get T'Pol out of his mind.
The tantalizing feel and the taste of her lips when they kissed. Soft and slightly wavering, pecans and cinnamon. The latter dancing at the tip of his tongue, a sun-kissed flavor fitting of a woman from a desert world.
The very real effect on him was marginally akin to being fourteen years old all over again. The chief engineer would have scoffed at the comparison to a love-sick teenager, because that damn well wasn't it. This was more like a brain infection, a festering idea of her in his thoughts that he could not shake.
He'd dismissed the vivid memories, sensory recall, as normal lingering impressions at first. Certainly, despite the line of bull he'd fed T'Pol, it was an incredibly memorable night. When an hour passed and he found himself failing to brush the incident to the back of his mind when work demanded his attention, when T'Pol clung to his thoughts like plasma particles, he started to suspect this wasn't just the work of memory... at least, not typical human memory. Sure as hell not the way Trip Tucker's mind usually functioned, because if nothing else he knew how to put work in its proper place when it came to a hierarchy of priorities.
Inside his head, T'Pol was grossly out of line.
Nutmeg and sun-bleached sand taunting his taste buds as he swept her mouth. Thoroughly fascinating, the flavor of T'Pol impressed upon his brain.
Trip felt like a part of him was perpetually trapped, ensnared in last night, enmeshed in the memory of T'Pol's embrace as tangibly as he had held her only hours ago.
Trip struggled in what seemed an endless war with himself until finally, like a slow-warming warp engine, he hit a stride. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd truly managed to suppress the stark images in his mind or if he'd merely figured out how to disassociate that part of his mind that was hung up on his encounter with the Vulcan science officer from the rest of his mental processes. Either way, Trip discovered how to work with the preoccupying event in his mind.
It became persistent background noise, an unrelenting pest in the back of his mind.
Heat from her, rising around him and with it bringing a heady scent of sun-dried earth.
Through sheer force of will alone Trip began to adapt his work in engineering into a distraction from the repeating recollections. The harder he focused on his work, the more intense and single-minded his attention was on his duties, the more the memories of T'Pol became muted.
Trip settled into dogged execution of his tasks, sinking into the soothing hum of Enterprise's engines to drown out the remembered sound of T'Pol's reined sighs.
Her skin feverish under his touch; he could feel her body temperature soar beneath his hand and against his chest, an enchanting summer on every inch of his skin where his flesh met hers.
"Commander?"
Trip was jarred at the intrusion into his private little war. He took a moment to collect himself as he turned to one of the ensigns assigned to the engineering staff. She was standing patiently after calling his title as she waited for his attention.
"Yes?" he asked the young woman.
The crewman, her expression dour and weary, handed a PADD to Trip as she said, "Sir, power relays went down again on Deck C, sections four through six."
"Damn," Trip cursed as he scanned the maintenance report now in his hands. That particular section of the ship had experienced power failure twice in the last two weeks, traced each time back to a set of faulty power couplings. They needed to be replaced, but material aboard Enterprise was scarce and there were no available spare power relays to fix the power fluctuations for good.
Trip frowned. "Well, guess we'll have ta see what we can do about jury-riggin' them back together enough to hold a current." Even as he said it he grimaced, fully cognizant of how unprofessional and 'sloppy' such a quick-fix solution was... sadly, such backward repairs were becoming his only recourse in far too many situations. Just when he thought the day couldn't get worse he was proven gloriously wrong.
The ensign inquired reluctantly, "Would you like me to see to it, Commander?"
Trip considered her request and the work-load the repair job entailed. It was a tedious, fine-tuned job that the ensign obviously did not relish the idea of undertaking. Normally, Trip wouldn't blame her. It was a boring job that necessitated patience and diligence, because cobbling together a working power transfer circuit from a faulty relay was not an easy task.
Today, it sounded like just the thing Trip needed to keep himself busy.
"I'll handle it, Ensign, just keep me informed if anything happens down here."
With obvious relief the woman nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll put together a relay repair kit for you right away."
Trip nodded and called after her, "Make sure ya put in plenty a copper casin' strips, got a feelin' I'll be needin' all the balin' wire I can get."
*****
Captain Jonathan Archer, for lack of any other pressing business to attend to, paced the bridge. His command crew was used to such behavior at quiet hours. Jonathan Archer was a man not apt to stay still for long, and the expanses of space that held no wonders or excitement, instead a stretch only of uneventful, peaceful travel through the darkness, could task the captain. His habit of pacing was a small gesture that stemmed the restlessness he could sometimes suffer. When he became captain of the Enterprise, Earth's first long-range vessel of scientific exploration, he never foresaw these pockets of inaction.
Archer made circuits of the different stations and after so many months in service together each person manning each station knew without prompting that a certain look from their captain called for a report.
Archer stepped closer to Malcolm Reed and turned a curious gaze up toward the tactical officer.
Malcolm was ready with a quick report. "Deck C is still reporting isolated power failure, Captain."
Archer frowned unhappily. "That's the third time that section's gone down in the past month..." The captain ceased musing aloud then asked his waiting officer, "Trip still on it?" The question was more perfunctory than genuinely questioning.
Malcolm nodded. "Yes, sir, he's been down there since 0930 trying to effect repairs."
Archer sighed in helplessness. He knew Trip was doing all in his power to keep the Enterprise at peak efficiency, but the exploration vessel had been asked to give more than she was designed to offer in their unexpected mission to track down and stop the Xindi. She'd gone from ship of science to ship of war without changing any of the basic functions of which she was capable. Such a shift in mission parameters would normally require an overhaul of the entire vessel to properly adapt to the new functionary title... Enterprise had received no such luxury. Trip was a brilliant engineer, but he could only do so much with what he had with which to work.
Archer mulled a few loose thoughts over then said, "I'd like to see Trip in my ready room when he goes off duty." Maybe they could brainstorm a new method by which to hold the stressed ship together, although already the Enterprise was bound together by means no one would have imagined a short few months ago, some that positively set Trip's hairs on end.
"Aye, sir," Malcolm answered and his hands moved over the controls before him, no doubt encoding a message to Trip's quarters relaying the captain's request.
T'Pol's calm, even voice intoned from the other end of the bridge as though she'd intuited the captain's recent train of thought, "The Enterprise suffers from a lack of adequate material for the engineers to properly maintain the ship."
Archer often wondered if there was any limit to the amount of obvious statements a Vulcan could provide. His handful of years of service with T'Pol as his first officer had yet to show the bottom of that particular Vulcan cavern. "I know that, but unfortunately a quick stop over at Jupiter Station for a refit is not an option. We'll have to make due until the threat of the Xindi has been destroyed or we've literally come apart at the seams."
T'Pol did not answer, instead lifted one eyebrow in acknowledgment (or perhaps a subtle commentary on the language he'd chosen) and returned to attending to her sensors.
Archer returned to his captain's seat and sat down, suddenly tired. He felt like his ship, over-worked and over-extended. Sadly, he knew he was not unique among his crew; everyone was feeling the strain of their mission.
*****
Trip, splayed out on his back with his torso shoved into an open wall panel on Deck C, was relegated to working in the dark corridor by the light of flashlights and emergency illumination. Sweat was coloring his blue uniform navy blue in patches on his chest and back, the sputtering, coughing wheeze of the decoupled relays a sick symphony that had begun to grate on Trip's nerves after the first three hours.
Trip strung copper conduction strips from one portion of the fluttering power relay to another, intent upon finding the fine balance that would cooperate with the stored power almost desperate to flow to its proper destination.
It was demanding work, and the recurring mental images plaguing him really were not helping.
Her slim Vulcan body pressed readily into his bare human frame, a hot aphrodisiac that smelled like the sun.
Trip's hand inadvertently brushed an active power coil surface. Only barely, but enough to burn.
Trip sharply jerked his hand back, "Son of a...!" he flexed his fingers to insure he was not seriously hurt, then gave his wounded hand a moment to recuperate before sending it back into the fray but already he'd booked himself a visit to the doctor after he'd finished his work for an analgesic cream.
With every taste, every touch, he wanted her more.
Trip's irritation was building into anger. He couldn't afford the distraction, not when he had work to do. To his chagrin, T'Pol's presence in his mind refused to abide by those stipulations. The smallest slip in his concentration opened the way for memories to flood him, nearly overwhelm him, and it had to stop.
Happily nipping and suckling on her alien skin.
Trip carefully returned to his work two-handed, more cautious of the live power sources he was working with and around. Maybe T'Pol had the right idea calling a halt to their... whatever they might have had. If a closer relationship meant he could look forward to T'Pol on his brain on a continuous loop ad infinitum then it was just as well he back off.
Best to leave it alone, and maybe stay clear of T'Pol for a little while for good measure, because the mission to find the Xindi and stop them was paramount. Trip refused to be taken from that for anything... it was too damn important.
Resolution battled with nettling doubt that it would not be so easy for Trip to dismiss the idea of T'Pol and what they'd shared from his mind.
Her touch, so familiar with his body from so many intimate neuropressure sessions, skirting places with specific knowledge coupled anew with physical hunger. Trip, taken with her wisdom, the knowing way she touched him even when she faltered in uncertainty. Trip, completely taken with her.
"Ensign Harris told me I'd find you here."
Trip startled at the voice, having missed the sound of any approaching footsteps, and craning around in his confines he finally cleared the access panel enough to look up at Corporal Cole. She was standing beside his prone body in her gray MACO uniform, head cant and a teasing smile on her lips as she looked down at him. The angular light from emergency strips and strategically placed flashlights cast her face in intriguing contours and shadows.
Amanda's eyebrows twitched when Trip did not say anything right away. "Heard you've been at this five hours straight."
Trip scooted out of the panel, glad for the new distraction, and as he sat up and laid aside his tool returned, "Don't know, what time is it?"
Amanda smirked and squatted down beside him. "I'll assume it's accurate since you've got that 'lost track of time' look about you. Anything I can help you with?"
Trip stopped himself, measured his initially intended words for how they may have accidentally sounded, then said, "It's... kinda a fine art gettin' these damn things to work, and not that I don't appreciate the offer, but if ya don't have the trainin'..."
Amanda waved a hand, clearly not wounded by the slight. "I get it, no sweat. I kind of suspected I wouldn't know enough to be of any help."
Trip glanced down at his recently assaulted hand, examining the red patch of burned skin as he asked, "Then why'd ya track me down?"
Amanda smiled. "To get you to break for chow; I'm also assuming you missed lunch."
"Uh... yeah, guess I did." Rather than make any attempts to rise and accompany the MACO to the mess hall Trip basked in the breather Amanda's arrival had forced him to take. Air dried and simultaneously cooled the sweat on his face and dampening his clothes. He relished that cool breeze far more than he noticed any pressing hunger gnawing at his stomach.
"I went to T'Pol's quarters yesterday for a neuropressure treatment as per the doctor's request," Amanda suddenly said in considered, measured words, a blatant effort exerted to come off as sounding conversational.
Of all the people they had to discuss, it seemed Trip's fate today that it would turn out to be T'Pol. Trip cocked one eyebrow at the MACO. "Oh yeah?"
Amanda nodded. "She was... well, that Vulcan knows neuropressure." The last was said with obvious admiration for a well-honed skill.
Trip found himself chuckling. "That she does. Still seems like magic to me sometimes the way T'Pol can..." the engineer trailed and switched trains of thought, "Amanda, why didn't ya tell me that I was hurtin' ya when I was doin' it to ya?"
Amanda shrugged in unconcern. "A lot of the stuff you were doing DID feel good, just a few things that hit a bad spot. I didn't think it was a big deal."
Trip frowned. "Neuropressure's not something to fool around with, I could'a really hurt ya, T'Pol says maybe even cause permanent nerve damage."
"Well, you didn't."
Trip, not assuaged by the disaster averted by dumb luck, nodded absently. "Just the same, think it goes without sayin' I shouldn't do it to ya anymore."
Amanda seemed displeased with the idea but didn't outright object.
Trip found himself offering, "If ya wanted ya might be able to get T'Pol to work with ya on a regular basis the way she does with me." It was reasonable enough, but there was a gut response in Trip that didn't particularly like the course of action he'd just recommended Amanda take.
Amanda made a face at the suggestion. "Nothing against the sub-commander, but I don't think I'll be pursuing a regular client-based association with her. She can be... rough."
Trip's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"Besides," Amanda continued, "she's not as good company as you are."
Trip stared at Amanda a moment, his physical senses locked on her but his thoughts simultaneously assaulting him again, without warning.
The shiver of barely contained ecstasy when his fingers teased her sensitive Vulcan ears, the pointed appendages' flush of green with rushing blood.
"She's nice when ya get to know her, it just takes a while to get past that Vulcan shield she puts on," Trip defended before he could stop himself.
Amanda's brow furrowed slightly. "All due respect again, but she strikes me as more or less like every other Vulcan I've met. Don't get me wrong, I respect her expertise and I know she's done as good a job as anyone can really expect from a Vulcan living among humans, but... I don't know, it's hard when the Vulcans are so vocal against us being out here."
Trip sighed in understanding. He knew exactly what Amanda was talking about... not so long ago it was his opinion as well when it came to the Vulcans. On the whole it still was how he felt, now with one exception... Sub-commander T'Pol.
"So, Commander Tucker, can I escort you to the mess or do I need to call in for reinforcements?" Amanda pressed with a feral grin.
Trip answered regretfully, "I'm sorry, Amanda, but ya better go on without me. If I don't get these damn things workin' again by ship night there's gonna be a whole section of off-duty crewmen stumblin' around their quarters in the dark."
Amanda opened her mouth to argue.
"Really, I have to finish this. Thanks for the invite, though."
Amanda shrugged and moved to leave him to his work but before she'd managed to stand she threw in, "We're scheduled for another hand-to-hand combat training session tonight."
Trip groaned and had to let his eyelids flutter shut in order to forestall the desire to roll his eyes. With all the other things on his mind he had completely forgotten about the combat training exercises in which the MACOs and Enterprise officers had been conjointly participating. He couldn't bow out of it, either, because while Malcolm might be willing to let it slide a few times Major Hayes would undoubtedly report his absence, and Captain Archer was the one who had pressed the Enterprise crew training with the MACOs to improve everyone's battle efficiency.
"I bring it up because Major Hayes and I spoke this morning and he'd prefer if MACOs sparred with MACOs, at least until the Enterprise crew members are a little more... proficient." Amanda said the last in a rising voice, obviously attempting to sound diplomatic and delicate.
Trip gave a wry grin. "Ya mean when we're not easy targets."
Amanda returned the smile. "If you want to get technical," then she cocked her head at the dirty engineer, "which I imagine you do. Major Hayes feels that a MACO is not getting a full work-out as per his physical regiment requirements when paired with an Enterprise crewman."
Trip, thinking back to their first joint session and seeing the MACOs fairly wiping the deck with Enterprise officers, conceded gracefully. "Well, he's probably right, but in our defense the rest of us have day jobs; we can't spend all day playin' soldier."
Amanda shook her head but her lips were curved in a smile. "Just wanted to tell you that it's nothing personal that I have to find a new partner."
"Probably for my own good anyway, I've got too much work to do to be stove up in sickbay because my sparrin' partner got overzealous."
"I'm wounded, Trip, to think you'd think I'd injure you."
"Well, not intentionally."
Amanda finally rose to a standing position and added in a soft voice, "I was hoping the cessation of our neuropressure sessions wouldn't mean we stopped spending time together." Her tone was openly inviting even if Trip had managed to miss the unspoken language in her unassuming stance as she watched him process her words... which he hadn't.
Trip honestly didn't know what to say because he didn't know how he felt about the veiled proposition. Today was the last day he should be expected to make any decisions surrounding his fractured personal life, especially a decision that included any woman. He liked Amanda, he genuinely enjoyed her company and they had a lot in common, but after spending the entire day with T'Pol a constant cerebral companion of sorts he felt he would be unfair to Amanda to accept any gesture of potential intimacy. He had some things to work out before he could weigh the consequences of becoming involved with someone, to say nothing about whether or not he could, in good conscience, spare the time in light of the Xindi.
"I'm sure we could find somethin' else to do other than neuropressure," Trip finally answered. He thought it was open-ended enough, however Amanda had noted the pause between her words and his. She took it for what it was. Counted among her numerous qualities was intelligence. To her credit, she seemed unfazed by the brush-off, because Trip did know how to let a girl down gently... or at least make it clear that he was trying to let a girl down gently. That coupled with the fact Amanda Cole was a woman built of sterner stuff than most women. She could not have become a MACO otherwise.
"I'm sure we can. I'll let you get back to your work."
"See ya later, Amanda," Trip bade her farewell then watched her walk down the corridor. He remained unmoved, thoughtful, until Amanda's figure rounded the hallway corner and disappeared from view.
The swirl, the fog encasing his thoughts, when she turned to tasting him. Her mouth a hot brand on his skin, trails of Vulcan fire across his chest and along his neck.
Trip gave a mental sigh of exasperation and crawled once more into the open access panel. He picked back up the gauntlet in the war pitting concentration on his work against the fermenting essence of last night with T'Pol branded on his brain.
It was turning out to be a very, very long day.
*****
Sub-commander T'Pol found herself between two clusters of humans, not exactly ostracized but she was well aware she was not entirely integrated into either group. She was standing in the cargo bay with the MACOs and available Enterprise crewmen waiting for their self-defense practice. Through natural inclination, the inborn herding instinct in humans that they still unwittingly adhered to, the MACOs were grouped together on her left and the Enterprise crewmen were gathered on her right. She was somewhat more enfolded into the Enterprise cluster, but there existed more space between her and any of the humans than stood between any two humans. T'Pol was not bothered, of course, but she noted it.
T'Pol pondered such situations a great deal during her meditation. Humans, behaviorally, were a constant conundrum providing endless, up-close study. For instance, the humans now were making two categories, 'human' and 'Vulcan', but if a test of loyalty was forced upon the group it would quickly change to 'MACO' and 'Enterprise' and T'Pol would no longer be regarded separate from her Enterprise shipmates.
It was in some ways illogical, but illogic seemed to be one of the ruling forces of human behavior. Just like the fact that, at that moment, Major Hayes was displaying agitation and irritability toward those present when his true hostility was directed at Commander Tucker. The engineer was late.
All eyes turned to the cargo bay doors when at last they slid open and an unapologetic Trip entered.
T'Pol marked his disposition in a fleeting instant. He had changed into exercise attire but his physical appearance else-wise indicated that he had not showered after his duty shift before coming to the cargo bay for self-defense. He looked tired and more than a little irate.
"Nice of you to join us, Commander," Major Hayes said with just enough respect in his tone to avoid any rejoinders but enough disdain for the engineer's tardiness to make his feelings on the matter known.
Trip's eyes narrowed fractionally at the MACO commander and the corners of his mouth pinched but he said nothing in retaliation... nor did he apologize for his lateness. T'Pol checked herself when she found a very faint frown of her own directed at the MACO for his manner toward Trip.
Trip had yet to look at her, tacitly avoiding it in fact, but was finally forced to face her. Everyone else, while milling around waiting, had wordlessly chosen a sparring partner. T'Pol was left the odd man out, no one jumping to pair with her, so Trip was unofficially assigned to her. It was more than his tardiness and her isolation that dictated their pairing; everyone on Enterprise, even if they did not know any specific details about the relationship between the chief engineer and Vulcan science officer, noticed that the two were more comfortable with each other than most of the humans were around T'Pol or she around humans. Trip was their escape-route, their excuse not to have to team with the Vulcan one-on-one because Trip and T'Pol were friends and did not mind the company of each other.
Normally, that was true, but today Trip moved toward T'Pol with a hesitancy in his step.
'He's reluctant, clearly uneasy about what happened last night, particularly after the discussion on the matter we shared in the mess hall this morning,' T'Pol thought as Trip drew closer. She should have known, of course, that the commander would let his emotions distract him.
He stopped facing her and one of T'Pol's eyelids flickered at what she read in his expression. She had seen Commander Tucker worked to exhaustion before, and she'd seen him irrational with profound emotions (such as grief) but the state reflected in his face right then was not exactly either.
That and T'Pol could almost sense something from him, feel something emanate from him the way she felt his emotional states when she touched him. It had only ever happened before when she was in physical contact with Trip, the nature of Vulcans being touch-telepaths, but now he stood two feet away, hands at his sides completely free of contact with her and still she felt... something.
T'Pol suppressed the urge to frown again, instead turned her attention to Major Hayes.
"Now that everyone's accounted for, I'd like us to run through the holds and throws we introduced during the last session." He looked toward the Enterprise crew to address them. "Work on your own for a while, once the MACOs have gone through the maneuvers a few times I'll have them supervise other teams."
Trip caught sight of Amanda standing opposite her male MACO partner. She returned his gaze, offered a small, congenial smile, then locked all her attention on her opponent.
Trip's weary annoyance at the self-defense class and warm friendliness at Corporal Cole was butted aside by a blatant sensation of disapproval, enough to make Trip frown in consternation and confusion.
Trip looked back to T'Pol to find a very impassive expression on her face. All the same, he got the feeling T'Pol knew he'd been making a social exchange with Amanda and she didn't seem happy.
Trip was too tired to argue, so he didn't mention it.
Teams on either side of them began to warm up into combat stances and Trip languidly began to move. T'Pol backed into a ready stance, voice seemingly flat as she asked, "Are you well, Commander?"
A little of the irritation directed at T'Pol faded, replaced by discomfort and content at the masked concern he could detect in her tone and Trip nodded. "Long day, go easy on me."
T'Pol lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.
Trip and T'Pol wordlessly set into a pattern of advance and retreat, alternating offense and defense.
T'Pol was stronger and faster than Trip by virtue of her species, but the chief engineer was keeping pace with her admirably. T'Pol assumed he was bored by the slow executions and sped up her own moves, intensified the maneuvers.
Trip matched her, not a word spoken. With increased speed came an illogical annoyance in the commander, who channeled his energy into aggressive concentration. T'Pol startled faintly at the change in Trip but easily matched his steps. Perhaps he had a human need to work through his emotions so she felt correct to oblige him... besides, T'Pol could do with the work-out.
Trip parried her attacks, each time anticipating her actions just enough to deflect them. He was not usually so adept at hand-to-hand, much less against a Vulcan, but T'Pol found herself watching closely for an opening, a weakness, unable to land any hits. It brought razor-sharp focus to what she was doing, and with ease she locked into the singular effort.
Strange emotional concoctions rolled off him, anger, thrill, irritation, hatred. T'Pol was distracted by the psychic onslaught, and it was enough to level the playing field between human and Vulcan.
Neither noticed their vigorous, furious combat had drawn attention. All the other teams stopped and watched the two. Trip and T'Pol were ruthless, deadly, but neither gained distinct advantage over the other. Their actions were composed of powerful deflections and failed attacks. It got almost too fast to follow.
T'Pol was lulled by the rhythm, the unconscious beat, then jolted when she realized she was committing a grave error. She was enjoying it. 'It must be the emotions I am sensing from him, affecting my own,' T'Pol reasoned, and before she could reel in her control she experienced another very human emotion. She got angry at Trip.
It was just enough to tip the scales. T'Pol was fast, decisive, and with a loud thud Trip was soon sprawled on his back on the mat, his arm locked painfully in T'Pol's almost delicate grip. He yelped, tensed, then stilled and glared at her.
T'Pol realized she was standing over him, victorious and still holding him, then deliberately let him go. She extended her hand to him, offering to aid him up. Trip stared up hotly at her a moment, breath short, then relented and accepted her hand and hauled himself up to his feet.
"Did I injure you, Commander?" T'Pol finally asked.
Trip was massaging his hand, still sour from the defeat. "Nah, it's nothin', just got me on my bad hand today."
T'Pol looked down at the hand Trip was tending and saw the red raw mark of a burn.
"You should have Doctor Phlox treat that."
Trip sneered. "Well thank you, but I was plannin' on doin' that when I had some spare time." Trip frowned at his hand again then slowly returned his eyes to T'Pol. He just then seemed to realize how angrily he'd spoken to T'Pol, unjustly, and in his eyes was silent apology.
T'Pol accepted with just as wordless a look.
Trip and T'Pol watched each other, silent, until Major Hayes interrupted them. "I must say, Commander Tucker, it looks like you've been practicing the moves you learned yesterday."
Trip at last turned his eyes away from T'Pol to look at Major Hayes. "Well, don't ask me ta explain it, but I don't think I'd do as well against anyone but T'Pol."
Hayes and Trip seemed equally confused. T'Pol looked as aghast as a Vulcan could manage.
"If I pass for tonight, Major, I'd like to drop over at sickbay and have this looked at," he waved his wounded hand at the MACO, still peeved at the major's attitude when Trip first arrived and it showed in his slightly insolent tone.
Hayes nodded. "Very well. Sub-commander, I think you've earned a break if you want but you're welcome to continue sparring with us, whichever you prefer."
T'Pol thought a moment before she answered. "I will continue exercise in private if I am free to choose. I should practice some Vulcan techniques that are inappropriate to conduct on human physiology."
Hayes nodded and moved off. Everyone seemed quick to drop T'Pol from their scope of responsibility. It was indeed fortunate that a Vulcan could not be bothered by such slights, unintentional or unconscious though they were.
Trip noticed Reed watching them, open shock and questioning on his face.
Trip felt even more tired than he had when T'Pol first helped him up off the floor.
"Look, T'Pol, I'm gonna head down to Phlox and get somethin' for this burn then I'm hittin' the sack."
One of T'Pol's eyebrows rose.
"Means goin' to bed."
T'Pol said, "First you must speak with the captain; he left a message for you to confer with him in his ready room at your earliest convenience."
Trip sighed, very nearly groaned, "I haven't had a chance to check my messages today. Well, thanks for tellin' me, least I can go by there without havin' ta go all the way to my quarters and all the way back. I was just gonna say that I won't be comin' by tonight for neuropressure."
T'Pol said nothing but Trip felt the need to offer an explanation. "I've been workin' like a dog all day, and after this work-out added to that I don't think sleep will be a problem."
T'Pol finally nodded, readily acquiescing. "Very well, Commander. Sleep well."
Trip nodded, considered her a moment longer than necessary, then quickly shook himself and turned to leave.
T'Pol felt the barrage of emotions fade the further Trip got. It made her nearly ill with dark portent. She would have to mediate longer than usual today to contain this. She wasn't even going to allow herself to consider the possibility of it intensifying.
If she were human, she might confess to intense apprehension... and fear. If she were human.
*****
When the comm signal chimed within the captain's quarters the alert little beagle was the first to awaken. Porthos's head jerked up at the sound, ears pricked in the dark toward the desk and its cicada-like ringing.
Captain Archer ignored it for only a split second, just time enough for him to struggled up from deep sleep, and as soon as he recognized the sound for what it was he was in motion. Archer, still half-asleep, rolled up and out of bed. He moved to the desk while Porthos hopped up from his bed and hurried to the feet of his master as the captain, in sleep clothes and sporting bed-head, sat down at his desk and depressed the control to answer the call. "Archer."
"Ensign Walters, sir, sorry to disturb you so late, but Admiral Forrest is on the comm channel; he requested to speak with you."
Archer had not been in contact with Starfleet for weeks at least; T'Pol would know the exact date of their last communique.
"Put him through, Ensign."
Archer's desk-bound monitor sprang to life, encasing the image of Admiral Forrest of Starfleet looking immaculate as ever in his uniform, if not a little tired. If it had been a more decent hour Archer might have been put to shame at his own state of undress but it was too late to worry... and he was betting the admiral hadn't called him up to dress him down for being out of uniform.
"Jonathan," Admiral Forrest greeted, "hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
Archer knew it was empty courtesy for the admiral to ask, just as it was programmed what Archer should answer with unless Enterprise was on fire.
"Not at all, Admiral, what can I do for you?"
Admiral Forrest sighed and Archer braced himself.
"What I'm going to tell you will come as a surprise to you so bear with me. You remember the second ship of Enterprise's class that was under initial phases of construction when Enterprise was commissioned?"
Archer nodded. "NX Columbia if I'm not mistaken."
Forrest paused. "Yes, well, that was the original idea. Construction was nearly halfway complete when the Xindi attack on Earth happened. When Starfleet ordered you and your crew to track down and stop this threat to humanity we here on Earth did what we could to assist. The former NX Columbia project was scraped and the incomplete ship was refitted for a different core mission."
Archer was awake now. "Go on."
Forrest nodded grimly. "The NX Ares is now complete and we're dispatching it at once to face the Xindi threat."
Archer digested this a moment, letting it coalesce in his mind, then he said, "So we're not alone anymore... why do I get the feeling there's more."
Forrest continued, "This ship is a warship, Jon, built for combat. We at Starfleet feel it appropriate for main responsibility for the destruction of the Xindi threat be shifted to the Ares."
Archer frowned. He was not happy. "Admiral, all due respect, we've been after the Xindi for months."
"Precisely. You've done a fantastic job all things considered, Jonathan, and before you object further, no, you're not being pulled from the mission. We'd like nothing more than to be able to relieve you of this burden and pass it over fully to the Ares and her crew, but we can't afford that.
"The Ares is on an intercept course with the Enterprise at this very moment, sadly its shakedown run will be traveling at top speed to reach you as soon as possible. What I need from you is for you and your crew to provide the Ares and her crew with everything you have amassed on your mission so far that might help them against the Xindi. Intelligence, weapons and engine upgrades, flying tips if that's what it takes, but update them as completely as possible in as little time as you can manage."
"What are Enterprise's orders after that? You said we weren't being pulled from the Xindi mission."
"You're not. After you've given Ares all that you can you're to report back to the Sol system ASAP. Enterprise will report to Jupiter Station for maintenance, refits, weapons' upgrades... as soon as you're fit and stocked you'll rejoin the Ares."
Archer tried to digest all the information at once. "Why wasn't I informed of any of these plans before now?"
Forrest's lips thinned. "We felt it would be a security risk for you to know that an Earth ship designed for combat was being built. If the Xindi captured you and managed to extract that information and struck against the Ares before she was operational it would have spelled disaster for Earth because it would mean Enterprise and Ares were both out of commission."
Archer could not argue with the logic, even if it did irk him. T'Pol would probably admire the practicality of Starfleet's actions.
"Admiral..." Archer said testily, "Enterprise is fit now to continue the mission. We'd appreciate the help the Ares can offer, but it's not necessary to divert all the way back to Sol for a tune-up. We're ready and willing to keep going."
"I knew you'd say that. I understand how you feel, and I can sympathize with and even admire the effort and time your crew has put into this mission, but Enterprise is not built for fighting and you know it. Even with these upgrades she won't be a warship, but she'll be better off than she is with what she has now. You won't be abandoning the hunt for the Xindi, the Ares will be carrying on in your stead."
"All due respect," Archer pressed, "but we've held our own pretty damn well so far."
"No arguments, but you have also been very lucky. This isn't a request, Captain, it's an order. The best outcome we can hope for from this series of events will leave Earth with two well-equipped ships to face a hostile force. Starfleet feels the inactivity of Enterprise for a short time to achieve that is worth the sacrifice."
Archer seethed inwardly, and outwardly sagged. An order was an order and he knew when he'd pushed his comrade past the point where he would bend. "Understood."
As he disengaged the link with Starfleet he idly turned his eyes down to the patiently waiting and watching dog at his feet. Archer was looking down at Porthos but his mind was on the conversation he'd just had with Admiral Forrest. His crew was not going to be any happier about this than he was.
It was a briefing he was not looking forward to at all.
*****
The passion they created, the flurry of desire, as he moved into her, alien and right. All of her with all of him. The rhythm as they rocked as one, the oneness of motion. His hand on her thigh, his mouth on her throat. Her hands on his back, her body arching into his with primal alacrity.
The cascade, the fall, the sweet desert onto which he lowered his tired body, the embodied Vulcan sands that embraced him in the aftermath and the peace. The desire. The passion. The love.
Commander Tucker awoke with a gasp and for a second blinked up vacantly at the ceiling. His mind was racing, jumbled with memories so real his skin prickled.
When the images faded back to their proper place in the corner of his mind, when he finally managed to shake himself free of the last vestiges of his dreams, he laid quietly. For a minute he had every intention of merely going back to sleep but it became obvious in short order that he would never be able to sleep after that wake-up call.
Heaving a sigh, Trip turned his head to look at the chronometer. His sigh turned into a groan. 0350 hours.
Trip growled angrily and moved to get up, mood only worsened when the initial attempts to move only ignited a plane of complaints from his body. Yesterday's abuses had festered in his sparse sleep and he was sore as all hell.
Cranky and cramped, Trip got out of bed and shuffled absently toward his bathroom. He still had a couple more hours before he had to report for his duty shift and he didn't know what he'd do to fill that time.
An arrested attempt to disrobe for a morning shower convinced him that, however he ended up occupying himself, a primary destination would be sickbay to get Doctor Phlox to give him something for his myriad aches and pains.
Somehow this was all T'Pol's fault.
*****
Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather did not make it a habit to spend breakfast in one another's company, but as luck would have it both ensigns were up early that particular day and ran into each other on the way to the mess hall. They were as friendly toward one another as anyone else among the crew, comrades and comfortable in each other's company, but among the bridge crew Hoshi and Travis were perhaps the most dissimilar. Hoshi had never really wanted to travel in space; Travis was born and raised on spaceships. She put up with it because it was her job and she was able to learn completely alien languages on her current assignment; Travis would be out of place anywhere but in space.
It was just enough of a rift to ensure they never became best friends, but regular friends was entirely possible and already they were congenial colleagues.
When they stepped into the mess hall it was all but barren at this hour. A couple of crewmen were eating breakfast, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and chef was gearing up for a full day of serving food to the Enterprise crew.
Hoshi and Travis both noticed Commander Tucker sitting alone at a table at the same time. He was partially slumped in his chair, tray before him from which he dispassionately picked at something that resembled scrambled eggs.
Hoshi and Travis approached the solitary officer.
"Morning, Commander," Hoshi greeted.
Trip looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Didn't know you two made a habit of early risin'."
Hoshi offered a smile. "I wanted to get in some extra work on a translation I've been trying to crack today before my shift started."
Travis pipped in, "Mind if we join you for breakfast, sir?"
Trip shook his head, "Please," and gestured toward the empty chairs around him. He acted kindly enough but there was a dullness to his words that implied he either didn't really want company or would himself make pretty lousy company. It deterred neither ensign.
Hoshi sat down while Travis went to get some chow. The communication's officer looked down at Trip's tray. It was half-eaten and the way Trip was picking at it absently she suspected he'd been at it for a while.
"When did you wake up, Commander?"
Trip's mouth pursed, his brow darkened, then he shrugged and pushed again at his eggs. "Too damn early, that's for sure, but anyway, what translation was it ya were so gung ho to work on that it was worth wakin' up this early?"
Hoshi didn't miss his blatant attempt to change the subject but she allowed it without protest. If Trip didn't want to discuss what was bothering him she had no right to pry, and he was a senior officer.
"A Xindi translation. At first I thought it might be a unique dialect among the insectoid species, which I have not encountered yet among any of the Xindi specie languages we've discovered, but when I paid attention to the context in which it appears... my hunch is that the insectoid Xindi use a distinct form of verbal communication for mercantilistic exchanges, which, if it's true, would be intriguing," she noted the rather displeased shadow cross Trip's face and amended, "uh, source aside."
Trip gave a silent nod. Travis joined them with a tray of breakfast foods and two cups of coffee. He passed one cup to Hoshi then handed over two slices of toast and a halved grapefruit to the grateful young woman.
"Is everything all right, Commander?" Travis inquired.
"Fine, Travis, just listenin' to Hoshi talk about that insectoid translation that's got her all fired up."
Hoshi took a bite of toast and smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd call it 'fired up'," she paused a moment, "not in the sense you seemed to be last night, so I've heard."
Trip's eyes rose questioningly to the woman as he ceased poking at his scrambled eggs.
Hoshi obliged. "Lieutenant Reed told me that you and T'Pol were quite brutal last night in the self-defense training."
Trip scowled. "Malcolm made more of it than there was. We just got a little overzealous."
Travis's eyebrows rose. "An overzealous Vulcan? I'd have paid to see that. I can't picture T'Pol getting worked up."
Trip gave a strange little smirk that vanished almost instantly. Hoshi's eyebrow flickered at seeing the fleeting gesture but she held her peace.
Instead, Hoshi said for Travis's benefit, "Lieutenant Reed said it was a real show, even stopped the MACOs in the middle of what they were doing. I'm sorry I missed it myself."
Trip sighed raggedly. "Well, I paid for that little stunt this mornin', woke up so sore I counted myself lucky to make it to the mess hall without endin' up on my ass."
Travis smiled after swallowing a piece of sausage. "I can imagine, going head-to-head against a Vulcan and getting 'carried away'... lucky you came away walking at all."
Trip didn't respond at first, perhaps a perfectly natural lag in conversation, but Hoshi sat close enough and was keen enough to register a distracted, glazed expression on Trip's face. He was physically at the mess hall table with them, but mentally he was anywhere but.
The three lapsed into casual, friendly conversation as Travis and Hoshi finished their breakfast, the entire time Trip pushing the remainder of his food around the tray like he was herding the eggs.
Other crewmen soon began to trickle into the mess and before long a regular attendance had coalesced around them, gathered around tables in talkative groups, the last minute cram before shifts started.
One of those later arrivals was Malcolm Reed. He walked into the common room and spotted Trip, Hoshi, and Travis chatting amiably over abandoned trays. He swooped by the chow line for a quick grab at some food then made a bee-line for their table.
"Do you have room for one more?" he asked.
"Pull up a seat, Malcolm," Trip implored, in somewhat better spirits than Hoshi and Travis had first found him.
Reed seated himself between Trip and Hoshi and launched into his food with due haste.
"Easy there, Malcolm, we're not at tactical alert," Trip teased.
Reed washed down a mouthful of jammed biscuits with orange juice then retorted, "Maybe you have time to dally, but when I woke up and read the message from the captain it meant I only had about ten minutes for breakfast."
"What message from the cap'n?"
"You didn't get it?" Reed seemed puzzled.
Trip answered cryptically, "I checked my messages last night, but I left my quarters pretty early this mornin'."
Reed nodded. "Ahh, well, that explains it, according to the message Captain Archer sent it an hour ago to all senior officers."
"Well, what was the message?"
"A senior staff meeting in the briefing room before shifts."
Trip frowned, pensive. "Any idea what this is about?"
Reed shook his head and looked at the chronometer. "No, but we'd better get a move on if we don't want to be late for it."
Trip and Reed rose, bid Travis and Hoshi farewell, then after dropping their trays off at the counter left the mess hall and headed at a fairly brisk walk toward the briefing room.
Next
Spoilers: Harbinger
Summary: The evolution of Trip and T'Pol's relationship following the events in 'Harbinger'.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(
************
"Doesn't mean we can't keep doing the neuropressure, though."
T'Pol did not flinch to an untrained eye, did not so much as pause to an outward observer, but the man sitting directly across from her was far from either. Commander Tucker's aptitude at reading the Vulcan science officer was uncanny, heightened, and she knew he perceived her infinitesimal flicker of being caught off-guard in the partially turned away, cant-head look he cast in her direction.
T'Pol soon had her cup of tea at her lips, a feeble but physical barrier against the chief engineer, and as she took a sip her eyes did a very human thing... they darted. She could hardly help the gesture... she was uncomfortable. There was something charged, intimate, in Trip's seemingly off-hand comment. She knew him well, could read his tones sometimes better than she comprehended his colorful speech, and she knew all he'd just said, all he'd insisted, was for nought. He would not forget their 'encounter' last night... at least not any time soon.
T'Pol swallowed with deliberation, lowered her cup, and met his gaze head-on. She would have to be the pillar of strength, the wellspring providing enforcement and reiteration that their 'experience' last night was not the prelude to something more. It could not be, at any cost.
Her manner was cool and collected as she said, "Until it has been established that you would no longer experience sleep disturbances without the neuropressure it is only logical our sessions continue. The Enterprise would suffer the inefficiency of a chronically exhausted chief engineer."
Trip watched her a moment, no more than three seconds, but in that time a stony resolution came over his face. As good as T'Pol was at reading his vocal intonations and nonverbal communication, he was just as good at reading her. He picked up on her demeanor, the chill dismissal of their previous closeness standing as stark reaffirmation of everything she'd said only moments ago, and quickly he adapted to match her.
Trip became distant, professional, without a centimeter of movement in his body posture or his facial expression.
T'Pol blinked calmly as she watched him transform. A small seed of relief budded within her to see him reverting to the colleague she'd befriended. This was the only way it could be. She would not allow this human to sway her, to affect her.
"Can't have the ship fallin' apart on account a me, can we?" Trip commented dryly, if not with a hint of sincerity, then he sighed, defeated. His voice lost the measure of acidity it had gained when he said, "I better get back ta engineerin', I have some things to do. See ya later, Sub-commander."
T'Pol nodded, "Commander," then watched impassively as he rose from his seat and made his way out of the mess hall. Her gaze lingered on the door in the wake of his departure only a fraction of a second before dropping back down to her cup of tea.
T'Pol saw from the corner of her eye the crewmen at the table near her. She knew they had not heard, human hearing was too poor to register the hushed conversation she and the commander had had, but still they were attentive to her solitary breakfast.
T'Pol refused to look at them, not because she was made uneasy by their covert scrutiny but because it would make them uncomfortable. T'Pol had grown accustomed to the reaction she still engendered from many among the crew. She had been accepted as a member of the Enterprise crew, respected for the skills she possessed, but on a personal level many of the humans still preferred to relate to her from a distance and through an intermediary such as Captain Archer.
T'Pol had confessed to herself some time ago that the awkwardness was not entirely one-sided. On the whole T'Pol was still poor at human relations. Theirs was a culture difficult for Vulcans to grasp, filled with emotional nuances and subtleties nonexistent in T'Pol's native society. It was a select handful of humans aboard Enterprise around whom T'Pol was not put at some appreciable measure of disquiet. Commander Tucker was one of those few.
T'Pol, unconcerned with the looks slanted toward her from the human diners, lifted her head and pensively considered the doorway to the mess hall. Truth be told, Trip was the human, against all logic, that she was now most comfortable around. For a long time T'Pol felt closest to Captain Archer, soothed by the layer of professionalism between them, a buffer zone with which she was familiar. She had been resistant to explore human companionship beyond that safety zone.
Then the neuropressure sessions with Commander Tucker began.
T'Pol took in a short breath as she remembered that initial impromptu session. When Trip had first administered neuropressure to her she'd been somewhat startled by his actions. With minimal direction he found the exact neural node and with little prompting exerted more or less the proper amount of stimulating pressure. T'Pol had been braced for pain from ineptitude, but Trip had surprised her.
'Because his are the hands of precision, trained for both demanding and delicate work,' T'Pol mused as she sipped again at her tea. It was one of many facts about Charles Tucker that she had gleaned through interactions with him. Trip was without question a man who knew his hands well, and was very in tune with their movements. T'Pol had never complimented Trip his dexterity, the human utterly unaware of how he'd impressed the unflappable science officer. Instead, she had settled far too easily and far too quickly into an unstrained comfort in his presence, engaging in close and frequent physical contact with him, that had ultimately led to this.
T'Pol could not allow this progression to escalate. What happened last night could not recur. Her companionship with Commander Tucker had become dangerous; her Vulcan veneer of detached control wavered around Trip. Neither he nor she was prepared for the consequences of any further emotional entanglement between them.
T'Pol made this decision for the both of them, vindicated in her certainty it was both logical and right, and finished her tea with outwardly untouched calm. It was a stubborn, buried part of her, a piece of herself she fought with all her Vulcan control, that mourned the loss of an interpersonal closeness that had been growing and spreading with illogical tendrils of comfort and peace even as it ignited confusion and fear.
It was fortunate that T'Pol was Vulcan and none of these emotions, these feelings, could alter her judgment. Such human failings that might have bested another would not challenge T'Pol's reigning logic... certainly not on this, so personal a matter.
*****
Wonderfully feminine form, more angular than a human woman's, sharper and more severe in body as well as visage. Her skin tone bronzed, tanned but tinted just enough, enough to distinguish the expanse of her tantalizing flesh as exotic to his senses.
Commander Charles Tucker's lips thinned and his gaze narrowed in intense concentration as he focused on the diagnostic read-outs displayed in front of him. Engineering was a quiet hum of efficiency surrounding him, Trip's team going about their work diligently, sparing now and then the usual small talk and idle conversation.
Commander Tucker had not partaken of any of the amiable chit-chat in the two hours he'd been on duty, since leaving T'Pol in the mess hall at breakfast, and his people had picked up soon enough that he wasn't in the mood to be approached for anything less than ship's business.
With his eyes soaking up the sight of her, feeding on the carnal presence she was creating. His gaze returning to hers after what seemed an era visually trekking her Sahara skin.
Trip glowered at the computer access panel before him as though it were to blame and mentally attacked the numbers and measures with a furious singularity of purpose. It wasn't that he was faced with anything particularly difficult, simple routine warp engine checks... he just kept getting distracted.
That was being kind, because 'distraction' was a mild word for what Trip was experiencing at that moment. He had learned to work through distraction in the academy, but he'd never quite been distracted like this. He couldn't get T'Pol out of his mind.
The tantalizing feel and the taste of her lips when they kissed. Soft and slightly wavering, pecans and cinnamon. The latter dancing at the tip of his tongue, a sun-kissed flavor fitting of a woman from a desert world.
The very real effect on him was marginally akin to being fourteen years old all over again. The chief engineer would have scoffed at the comparison to a love-sick teenager, because that damn well wasn't it. This was more like a brain infection, a festering idea of her in his thoughts that he could not shake.
He'd dismissed the vivid memories, sensory recall, as normal lingering impressions at first. Certainly, despite the line of bull he'd fed T'Pol, it was an incredibly memorable night. When an hour passed and he found himself failing to brush the incident to the back of his mind when work demanded his attention, when T'Pol clung to his thoughts like plasma particles, he started to suspect this wasn't just the work of memory... at least, not typical human memory. Sure as hell not the way Trip Tucker's mind usually functioned, because if nothing else he knew how to put work in its proper place when it came to a hierarchy of priorities.
Inside his head, T'Pol was grossly out of line.
Nutmeg and sun-bleached sand taunting his taste buds as he swept her mouth. Thoroughly fascinating, the flavor of T'Pol impressed upon his brain.
Trip felt like a part of him was perpetually trapped, ensnared in last night, enmeshed in the memory of T'Pol's embrace as tangibly as he had held her only hours ago.
Trip struggled in what seemed an endless war with himself until finally, like a slow-warming warp engine, he hit a stride. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd truly managed to suppress the stark images in his mind or if he'd merely figured out how to disassociate that part of his mind that was hung up on his encounter with the Vulcan science officer from the rest of his mental processes. Either way, Trip discovered how to work with the preoccupying event in his mind.
It became persistent background noise, an unrelenting pest in the back of his mind.
Heat from her, rising around him and with it bringing a heady scent of sun-dried earth.
Through sheer force of will alone Trip began to adapt his work in engineering into a distraction from the repeating recollections. The harder he focused on his work, the more intense and single-minded his attention was on his duties, the more the memories of T'Pol became muted.
Trip settled into dogged execution of his tasks, sinking into the soothing hum of Enterprise's engines to drown out the remembered sound of T'Pol's reined sighs.
Her skin feverish under his touch; he could feel her body temperature soar beneath his hand and against his chest, an enchanting summer on every inch of his skin where his flesh met hers.
"Commander?"
Trip was jarred at the intrusion into his private little war. He took a moment to collect himself as he turned to one of the ensigns assigned to the engineering staff. She was standing patiently after calling his title as she waited for his attention.
"Yes?" he asked the young woman.
The crewman, her expression dour and weary, handed a PADD to Trip as she said, "Sir, power relays went down again on Deck C, sections four through six."
"Damn," Trip cursed as he scanned the maintenance report now in his hands. That particular section of the ship had experienced power failure twice in the last two weeks, traced each time back to a set of faulty power couplings. They needed to be replaced, but material aboard Enterprise was scarce and there were no available spare power relays to fix the power fluctuations for good.
Trip frowned. "Well, guess we'll have ta see what we can do about jury-riggin' them back together enough to hold a current." Even as he said it he grimaced, fully cognizant of how unprofessional and 'sloppy' such a quick-fix solution was... sadly, such backward repairs were becoming his only recourse in far too many situations. Just when he thought the day couldn't get worse he was proven gloriously wrong.
The ensign inquired reluctantly, "Would you like me to see to it, Commander?"
Trip considered her request and the work-load the repair job entailed. It was a tedious, fine-tuned job that the ensign obviously did not relish the idea of undertaking. Normally, Trip wouldn't blame her. It was a boring job that necessitated patience and diligence, because cobbling together a working power transfer circuit from a faulty relay was not an easy task.
Today, it sounded like just the thing Trip needed to keep himself busy.
"I'll handle it, Ensign, just keep me informed if anything happens down here."
With obvious relief the woman nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll put together a relay repair kit for you right away."
Trip nodded and called after her, "Make sure ya put in plenty a copper casin' strips, got a feelin' I'll be needin' all the balin' wire I can get."
*****
Captain Jonathan Archer, for lack of any other pressing business to attend to, paced the bridge. His command crew was used to such behavior at quiet hours. Jonathan Archer was a man not apt to stay still for long, and the expanses of space that held no wonders or excitement, instead a stretch only of uneventful, peaceful travel through the darkness, could task the captain. His habit of pacing was a small gesture that stemmed the restlessness he could sometimes suffer. When he became captain of the Enterprise, Earth's first long-range vessel of scientific exploration, he never foresaw these pockets of inaction.
Archer made circuits of the different stations and after so many months in service together each person manning each station knew without prompting that a certain look from their captain called for a report.
Archer stepped closer to Malcolm Reed and turned a curious gaze up toward the tactical officer.
Malcolm was ready with a quick report. "Deck C is still reporting isolated power failure, Captain."
Archer frowned unhappily. "That's the third time that section's gone down in the past month..." The captain ceased musing aloud then asked his waiting officer, "Trip still on it?" The question was more perfunctory than genuinely questioning.
Malcolm nodded. "Yes, sir, he's been down there since 0930 trying to effect repairs."
Archer sighed in helplessness. He knew Trip was doing all in his power to keep the Enterprise at peak efficiency, but the exploration vessel had been asked to give more than she was designed to offer in their unexpected mission to track down and stop the Xindi. She'd gone from ship of science to ship of war without changing any of the basic functions of which she was capable. Such a shift in mission parameters would normally require an overhaul of the entire vessel to properly adapt to the new functionary title... Enterprise had received no such luxury. Trip was a brilliant engineer, but he could only do so much with what he had with which to work.
Archer mulled a few loose thoughts over then said, "I'd like to see Trip in my ready room when he goes off duty." Maybe they could brainstorm a new method by which to hold the stressed ship together, although already the Enterprise was bound together by means no one would have imagined a short few months ago, some that positively set Trip's hairs on end.
"Aye, sir," Malcolm answered and his hands moved over the controls before him, no doubt encoding a message to Trip's quarters relaying the captain's request.
T'Pol's calm, even voice intoned from the other end of the bridge as though she'd intuited the captain's recent train of thought, "The Enterprise suffers from a lack of adequate material for the engineers to properly maintain the ship."
Archer often wondered if there was any limit to the amount of obvious statements a Vulcan could provide. His handful of years of service with T'Pol as his first officer had yet to show the bottom of that particular Vulcan cavern. "I know that, but unfortunately a quick stop over at Jupiter Station for a refit is not an option. We'll have to make due until the threat of the Xindi has been destroyed or we've literally come apart at the seams."
T'Pol did not answer, instead lifted one eyebrow in acknowledgment (or perhaps a subtle commentary on the language he'd chosen) and returned to attending to her sensors.
Archer returned to his captain's seat and sat down, suddenly tired. He felt like his ship, over-worked and over-extended. Sadly, he knew he was not unique among his crew; everyone was feeling the strain of their mission.
*****
Trip, splayed out on his back with his torso shoved into an open wall panel on Deck C, was relegated to working in the dark corridor by the light of flashlights and emergency illumination. Sweat was coloring his blue uniform navy blue in patches on his chest and back, the sputtering, coughing wheeze of the decoupled relays a sick symphony that had begun to grate on Trip's nerves after the first three hours.
Trip strung copper conduction strips from one portion of the fluttering power relay to another, intent upon finding the fine balance that would cooperate with the stored power almost desperate to flow to its proper destination.
It was demanding work, and the recurring mental images plaguing him really were not helping.
Her slim Vulcan body pressed readily into his bare human frame, a hot aphrodisiac that smelled like the sun.
Trip's hand inadvertently brushed an active power coil surface. Only barely, but enough to burn.
Trip sharply jerked his hand back, "Son of a...!" he flexed his fingers to insure he was not seriously hurt, then gave his wounded hand a moment to recuperate before sending it back into the fray but already he'd booked himself a visit to the doctor after he'd finished his work for an analgesic cream.
With every taste, every touch, he wanted her more.
Trip's irritation was building into anger. He couldn't afford the distraction, not when he had work to do. To his chagrin, T'Pol's presence in his mind refused to abide by those stipulations. The smallest slip in his concentration opened the way for memories to flood him, nearly overwhelm him, and it had to stop.
Happily nipping and suckling on her alien skin.
Trip carefully returned to his work two-handed, more cautious of the live power sources he was working with and around. Maybe T'Pol had the right idea calling a halt to their... whatever they might have had. If a closer relationship meant he could look forward to T'Pol on his brain on a continuous loop ad infinitum then it was just as well he back off.
Best to leave it alone, and maybe stay clear of T'Pol for a little while for good measure, because the mission to find the Xindi and stop them was paramount. Trip refused to be taken from that for anything... it was too damn important.
Resolution battled with nettling doubt that it would not be so easy for Trip to dismiss the idea of T'Pol and what they'd shared from his mind.
Her touch, so familiar with his body from so many intimate neuropressure sessions, skirting places with specific knowledge coupled anew with physical hunger. Trip, taken with her wisdom, the knowing way she touched him even when she faltered in uncertainty. Trip, completely taken with her.
"Ensign Harris told me I'd find you here."
Trip startled at the voice, having missed the sound of any approaching footsteps, and craning around in his confines he finally cleared the access panel enough to look up at Corporal Cole. She was standing beside his prone body in her gray MACO uniform, head cant and a teasing smile on her lips as she looked down at him. The angular light from emergency strips and strategically placed flashlights cast her face in intriguing contours and shadows.
Amanda's eyebrows twitched when Trip did not say anything right away. "Heard you've been at this five hours straight."
Trip scooted out of the panel, glad for the new distraction, and as he sat up and laid aside his tool returned, "Don't know, what time is it?"
Amanda smirked and squatted down beside him. "I'll assume it's accurate since you've got that 'lost track of time' look about you. Anything I can help you with?"
Trip stopped himself, measured his initially intended words for how they may have accidentally sounded, then said, "It's... kinda a fine art gettin' these damn things to work, and not that I don't appreciate the offer, but if ya don't have the trainin'..."
Amanda waved a hand, clearly not wounded by the slight. "I get it, no sweat. I kind of suspected I wouldn't know enough to be of any help."
Trip glanced down at his recently assaulted hand, examining the red patch of burned skin as he asked, "Then why'd ya track me down?"
Amanda smiled. "To get you to break for chow; I'm also assuming you missed lunch."
"Uh... yeah, guess I did." Rather than make any attempts to rise and accompany the MACO to the mess hall Trip basked in the breather Amanda's arrival had forced him to take. Air dried and simultaneously cooled the sweat on his face and dampening his clothes. He relished that cool breeze far more than he noticed any pressing hunger gnawing at his stomach.
"I went to T'Pol's quarters yesterday for a neuropressure treatment as per the doctor's request," Amanda suddenly said in considered, measured words, a blatant effort exerted to come off as sounding conversational.
Of all the people they had to discuss, it seemed Trip's fate today that it would turn out to be T'Pol. Trip cocked one eyebrow at the MACO. "Oh yeah?"
Amanda nodded. "She was... well, that Vulcan knows neuropressure." The last was said with obvious admiration for a well-honed skill.
Trip found himself chuckling. "That she does. Still seems like magic to me sometimes the way T'Pol can..." the engineer trailed and switched trains of thought, "Amanda, why didn't ya tell me that I was hurtin' ya when I was doin' it to ya?"
Amanda shrugged in unconcern. "A lot of the stuff you were doing DID feel good, just a few things that hit a bad spot. I didn't think it was a big deal."
Trip frowned. "Neuropressure's not something to fool around with, I could'a really hurt ya, T'Pol says maybe even cause permanent nerve damage."
"Well, you didn't."
Trip, not assuaged by the disaster averted by dumb luck, nodded absently. "Just the same, think it goes without sayin' I shouldn't do it to ya anymore."
Amanda seemed displeased with the idea but didn't outright object.
Trip found himself offering, "If ya wanted ya might be able to get T'Pol to work with ya on a regular basis the way she does with me." It was reasonable enough, but there was a gut response in Trip that didn't particularly like the course of action he'd just recommended Amanda take.
Amanda made a face at the suggestion. "Nothing against the sub-commander, but I don't think I'll be pursuing a regular client-based association with her. She can be... rough."
Trip's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"Besides," Amanda continued, "she's not as good company as you are."
Trip stared at Amanda a moment, his physical senses locked on her but his thoughts simultaneously assaulting him again, without warning.
The shiver of barely contained ecstasy when his fingers teased her sensitive Vulcan ears, the pointed appendages' flush of green with rushing blood.
"She's nice when ya get to know her, it just takes a while to get past that Vulcan shield she puts on," Trip defended before he could stop himself.
Amanda's brow furrowed slightly. "All due respect again, but she strikes me as more or less like every other Vulcan I've met. Don't get me wrong, I respect her expertise and I know she's done as good a job as anyone can really expect from a Vulcan living among humans, but... I don't know, it's hard when the Vulcans are so vocal against us being out here."
Trip sighed in understanding. He knew exactly what Amanda was talking about... not so long ago it was his opinion as well when it came to the Vulcans. On the whole it still was how he felt, now with one exception... Sub-commander T'Pol.
"So, Commander Tucker, can I escort you to the mess or do I need to call in for reinforcements?" Amanda pressed with a feral grin.
Trip answered regretfully, "I'm sorry, Amanda, but ya better go on without me. If I don't get these damn things workin' again by ship night there's gonna be a whole section of off-duty crewmen stumblin' around their quarters in the dark."
Amanda opened her mouth to argue.
"Really, I have to finish this. Thanks for the invite, though."
Amanda shrugged and moved to leave him to his work but before she'd managed to stand she threw in, "We're scheduled for another hand-to-hand combat training session tonight."
Trip groaned and had to let his eyelids flutter shut in order to forestall the desire to roll his eyes. With all the other things on his mind he had completely forgotten about the combat training exercises in which the MACOs and Enterprise officers had been conjointly participating. He couldn't bow out of it, either, because while Malcolm might be willing to let it slide a few times Major Hayes would undoubtedly report his absence, and Captain Archer was the one who had pressed the Enterprise crew training with the MACOs to improve everyone's battle efficiency.
"I bring it up because Major Hayes and I spoke this morning and he'd prefer if MACOs sparred with MACOs, at least until the Enterprise crew members are a little more... proficient." Amanda said the last in a rising voice, obviously attempting to sound diplomatic and delicate.
Trip gave a wry grin. "Ya mean when we're not easy targets."
Amanda returned the smile. "If you want to get technical," then she cocked her head at the dirty engineer, "which I imagine you do. Major Hayes feels that a MACO is not getting a full work-out as per his physical regiment requirements when paired with an Enterprise crewman."
Trip, thinking back to their first joint session and seeing the MACOs fairly wiping the deck with Enterprise officers, conceded gracefully. "Well, he's probably right, but in our defense the rest of us have day jobs; we can't spend all day playin' soldier."
Amanda shook her head but her lips were curved in a smile. "Just wanted to tell you that it's nothing personal that I have to find a new partner."
"Probably for my own good anyway, I've got too much work to do to be stove up in sickbay because my sparrin' partner got overzealous."
"I'm wounded, Trip, to think you'd think I'd injure you."
"Well, not intentionally."
Amanda finally rose to a standing position and added in a soft voice, "I was hoping the cessation of our neuropressure sessions wouldn't mean we stopped spending time together." Her tone was openly inviting even if Trip had managed to miss the unspoken language in her unassuming stance as she watched him process her words... which he hadn't.
Trip honestly didn't know what to say because he didn't know how he felt about the veiled proposition. Today was the last day he should be expected to make any decisions surrounding his fractured personal life, especially a decision that included any woman. He liked Amanda, he genuinely enjoyed her company and they had a lot in common, but after spending the entire day with T'Pol a constant cerebral companion of sorts he felt he would be unfair to Amanda to accept any gesture of potential intimacy. He had some things to work out before he could weigh the consequences of becoming involved with someone, to say nothing about whether or not he could, in good conscience, spare the time in light of the Xindi.
"I'm sure we could find somethin' else to do other than neuropressure," Trip finally answered. He thought it was open-ended enough, however Amanda had noted the pause between her words and his. She took it for what it was. Counted among her numerous qualities was intelligence. To her credit, she seemed unfazed by the brush-off, because Trip did know how to let a girl down gently... or at least make it clear that he was trying to let a girl down gently. That coupled with the fact Amanda Cole was a woman built of sterner stuff than most women. She could not have become a MACO otherwise.
"I'm sure we can. I'll let you get back to your work."
"See ya later, Amanda," Trip bade her farewell then watched her walk down the corridor. He remained unmoved, thoughtful, until Amanda's figure rounded the hallway corner and disappeared from view.
The swirl, the fog encasing his thoughts, when she turned to tasting him. Her mouth a hot brand on his skin, trails of Vulcan fire across his chest and along his neck.
Trip gave a mental sigh of exasperation and crawled once more into the open access panel. He picked back up the gauntlet in the war pitting concentration on his work against the fermenting essence of last night with T'Pol branded on his brain.
It was turning out to be a very, very long day.
*****
Sub-commander T'Pol found herself between two clusters of humans, not exactly ostracized but she was well aware she was not entirely integrated into either group. She was standing in the cargo bay with the MACOs and available Enterprise crewmen waiting for their self-defense practice. Through natural inclination, the inborn herding instinct in humans that they still unwittingly adhered to, the MACOs were grouped together on her left and the Enterprise crewmen were gathered on her right. She was somewhat more enfolded into the Enterprise cluster, but there existed more space between her and any of the humans than stood between any two humans. T'Pol was not bothered, of course, but she noted it.
T'Pol pondered such situations a great deal during her meditation. Humans, behaviorally, were a constant conundrum providing endless, up-close study. For instance, the humans now were making two categories, 'human' and 'Vulcan', but if a test of loyalty was forced upon the group it would quickly change to 'MACO' and 'Enterprise' and T'Pol would no longer be regarded separate from her Enterprise shipmates.
It was in some ways illogical, but illogic seemed to be one of the ruling forces of human behavior. Just like the fact that, at that moment, Major Hayes was displaying agitation and irritability toward those present when his true hostility was directed at Commander Tucker. The engineer was late.
All eyes turned to the cargo bay doors when at last they slid open and an unapologetic Trip entered.
T'Pol marked his disposition in a fleeting instant. He had changed into exercise attire but his physical appearance else-wise indicated that he had not showered after his duty shift before coming to the cargo bay for self-defense. He looked tired and more than a little irate.
"Nice of you to join us, Commander," Major Hayes said with just enough respect in his tone to avoid any rejoinders but enough disdain for the engineer's tardiness to make his feelings on the matter known.
Trip's eyes narrowed fractionally at the MACO commander and the corners of his mouth pinched but he said nothing in retaliation... nor did he apologize for his lateness. T'Pol checked herself when she found a very faint frown of her own directed at the MACO for his manner toward Trip.
Trip had yet to look at her, tacitly avoiding it in fact, but was finally forced to face her. Everyone else, while milling around waiting, had wordlessly chosen a sparring partner. T'Pol was left the odd man out, no one jumping to pair with her, so Trip was unofficially assigned to her. It was more than his tardiness and her isolation that dictated their pairing; everyone on Enterprise, even if they did not know any specific details about the relationship between the chief engineer and Vulcan science officer, noticed that the two were more comfortable with each other than most of the humans were around T'Pol or she around humans. Trip was their escape-route, their excuse not to have to team with the Vulcan one-on-one because Trip and T'Pol were friends and did not mind the company of each other.
Normally, that was true, but today Trip moved toward T'Pol with a hesitancy in his step.
'He's reluctant, clearly uneasy about what happened last night, particularly after the discussion on the matter we shared in the mess hall this morning,' T'Pol thought as Trip drew closer. She should have known, of course, that the commander would let his emotions distract him.
He stopped facing her and one of T'Pol's eyelids flickered at what she read in his expression. She had seen Commander Tucker worked to exhaustion before, and she'd seen him irrational with profound emotions (such as grief) but the state reflected in his face right then was not exactly either.
That and T'Pol could almost sense something from him, feel something emanate from him the way she felt his emotional states when she touched him. It had only ever happened before when she was in physical contact with Trip, the nature of Vulcans being touch-telepaths, but now he stood two feet away, hands at his sides completely free of contact with her and still she felt... something.
T'Pol suppressed the urge to frown again, instead turned her attention to Major Hayes.
"Now that everyone's accounted for, I'd like us to run through the holds and throws we introduced during the last session." He looked toward the Enterprise crew to address them. "Work on your own for a while, once the MACOs have gone through the maneuvers a few times I'll have them supervise other teams."
Trip caught sight of Amanda standing opposite her male MACO partner. She returned his gaze, offered a small, congenial smile, then locked all her attention on her opponent.
Trip's weary annoyance at the self-defense class and warm friendliness at Corporal Cole was butted aside by a blatant sensation of disapproval, enough to make Trip frown in consternation and confusion.
Trip looked back to T'Pol to find a very impassive expression on her face. All the same, he got the feeling T'Pol knew he'd been making a social exchange with Amanda and she didn't seem happy.
Trip was too tired to argue, so he didn't mention it.
Teams on either side of them began to warm up into combat stances and Trip languidly began to move. T'Pol backed into a ready stance, voice seemingly flat as she asked, "Are you well, Commander?"
A little of the irritation directed at T'Pol faded, replaced by discomfort and content at the masked concern he could detect in her tone and Trip nodded. "Long day, go easy on me."
T'Pol lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.
Trip and T'Pol wordlessly set into a pattern of advance and retreat, alternating offense and defense.
T'Pol was stronger and faster than Trip by virtue of her species, but the chief engineer was keeping pace with her admirably. T'Pol assumed he was bored by the slow executions and sped up her own moves, intensified the maneuvers.
Trip matched her, not a word spoken. With increased speed came an illogical annoyance in the commander, who channeled his energy into aggressive concentration. T'Pol startled faintly at the change in Trip but easily matched his steps. Perhaps he had a human need to work through his emotions so she felt correct to oblige him... besides, T'Pol could do with the work-out.
Trip parried her attacks, each time anticipating her actions just enough to deflect them. He was not usually so adept at hand-to-hand, much less against a Vulcan, but T'Pol found herself watching closely for an opening, a weakness, unable to land any hits. It brought razor-sharp focus to what she was doing, and with ease she locked into the singular effort.
Strange emotional concoctions rolled off him, anger, thrill, irritation, hatred. T'Pol was distracted by the psychic onslaught, and it was enough to level the playing field between human and Vulcan.
Neither noticed their vigorous, furious combat had drawn attention. All the other teams stopped and watched the two. Trip and T'Pol were ruthless, deadly, but neither gained distinct advantage over the other. Their actions were composed of powerful deflections and failed attacks. It got almost too fast to follow.
T'Pol was lulled by the rhythm, the unconscious beat, then jolted when she realized she was committing a grave error. She was enjoying it. 'It must be the emotions I am sensing from him, affecting my own,' T'Pol reasoned, and before she could reel in her control she experienced another very human emotion. She got angry at Trip.
It was just enough to tip the scales. T'Pol was fast, decisive, and with a loud thud Trip was soon sprawled on his back on the mat, his arm locked painfully in T'Pol's almost delicate grip. He yelped, tensed, then stilled and glared at her.
T'Pol realized she was standing over him, victorious and still holding him, then deliberately let him go. She extended her hand to him, offering to aid him up. Trip stared up hotly at her a moment, breath short, then relented and accepted her hand and hauled himself up to his feet.
"Did I injure you, Commander?" T'Pol finally asked.
Trip was massaging his hand, still sour from the defeat. "Nah, it's nothin', just got me on my bad hand today."
T'Pol looked down at the hand Trip was tending and saw the red raw mark of a burn.
"You should have Doctor Phlox treat that."
Trip sneered. "Well thank you, but I was plannin' on doin' that when I had some spare time." Trip frowned at his hand again then slowly returned his eyes to T'Pol. He just then seemed to realize how angrily he'd spoken to T'Pol, unjustly, and in his eyes was silent apology.
T'Pol accepted with just as wordless a look.
Trip and T'Pol watched each other, silent, until Major Hayes interrupted them. "I must say, Commander Tucker, it looks like you've been practicing the moves you learned yesterday."
Trip at last turned his eyes away from T'Pol to look at Major Hayes. "Well, don't ask me ta explain it, but I don't think I'd do as well against anyone but T'Pol."
Hayes and Trip seemed equally confused. T'Pol looked as aghast as a Vulcan could manage.
"If I pass for tonight, Major, I'd like to drop over at sickbay and have this looked at," he waved his wounded hand at the MACO, still peeved at the major's attitude when Trip first arrived and it showed in his slightly insolent tone.
Hayes nodded. "Very well. Sub-commander, I think you've earned a break if you want but you're welcome to continue sparring with us, whichever you prefer."
T'Pol thought a moment before she answered. "I will continue exercise in private if I am free to choose. I should practice some Vulcan techniques that are inappropriate to conduct on human physiology."
Hayes nodded and moved off. Everyone seemed quick to drop T'Pol from their scope of responsibility. It was indeed fortunate that a Vulcan could not be bothered by such slights, unintentional or unconscious though they were.
Trip noticed Reed watching them, open shock and questioning on his face.
Trip felt even more tired than he had when T'Pol first helped him up off the floor.
"Look, T'Pol, I'm gonna head down to Phlox and get somethin' for this burn then I'm hittin' the sack."
One of T'Pol's eyebrows rose.
"Means goin' to bed."
T'Pol said, "First you must speak with the captain; he left a message for you to confer with him in his ready room at your earliest convenience."
Trip sighed, very nearly groaned, "I haven't had a chance to check my messages today. Well, thanks for tellin' me, least I can go by there without havin' ta go all the way to my quarters and all the way back. I was just gonna say that I won't be comin' by tonight for neuropressure."
T'Pol said nothing but Trip felt the need to offer an explanation. "I've been workin' like a dog all day, and after this work-out added to that I don't think sleep will be a problem."
T'Pol finally nodded, readily acquiescing. "Very well, Commander. Sleep well."
Trip nodded, considered her a moment longer than necessary, then quickly shook himself and turned to leave.
T'Pol felt the barrage of emotions fade the further Trip got. It made her nearly ill with dark portent. She would have to mediate longer than usual today to contain this. She wasn't even going to allow herself to consider the possibility of it intensifying.
If she were human, she might confess to intense apprehension... and fear. If she were human.
*****
When the comm signal chimed within the captain's quarters the alert little beagle was the first to awaken. Porthos's head jerked up at the sound, ears pricked in the dark toward the desk and its cicada-like ringing.
Captain Archer ignored it for only a split second, just time enough for him to struggled up from deep sleep, and as soon as he recognized the sound for what it was he was in motion. Archer, still half-asleep, rolled up and out of bed. He moved to the desk while Porthos hopped up from his bed and hurried to the feet of his master as the captain, in sleep clothes and sporting bed-head, sat down at his desk and depressed the control to answer the call. "Archer."
"Ensign Walters, sir, sorry to disturb you so late, but Admiral Forrest is on the comm channel; he requested to speak with you."
Archer had not been in contact with Starfleet for weeks at least; T'Pol would know the exact date of their last communique.
"Put him through, Ensign."
Archer's desk-bound monitor sprang to life, encasing the image of Admiral Forrest of Starfleet looking immaculate as ever in his uniform, if not a little tired. If it had been a more decent hour Archer might have been put to shame at his own state of undress but it was too late to worry... and he was betting the admiral hadn't called him up to dress him down for being out of uniform.
"Jonathan," Admiral Forrest greeted, "hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
Archer knew it was empty courtesy for the admiral to ask, just as it was programmed what Archer should answer with unless Enterprise was on fire.
"Not at all, Admiral, what can I do for you?"
Admiral Forrest sighed and Archer braced himself.
"What I'm going to tell you will come as a surprise to you so bear with me. You remember the second ship of Enterprise's class that was under initial phases of construction when Enterprise was commissioned?"
Archer nodded. "NX Columbia if I'm not mistaken."
Forrest paused. "Yes, well, that was the original idea. Construction was nearly halfway complete when the Xindi attack on Earth happened. When Starfleet ordered you and your crew to track down and stop this threat to humanity we here on Earth did what we could to assist. The former NX Columbia project was scraped and the incomplete ship was refitted for a different core mission."
Archer was awake now. "Go on."
Forrest nodded grimly. "The NX Ares is now complete and we're dispatching it at once to face the Xindi threat."
Archer digested this a moment, letting it coalesce in his mind, then he said, "So we're not alone anymore... why do I get the feeling there's more."
Forrest continued, "This ship is a warship, Jon, built for combat. We at Starfleet feel it appropriate for main responsibility for the destruction of the Xindi threat be shifted to the Ares."
Archer frowned. He was not happy. "Admiral, all due respect, we've been after the Xindi for months."
"Precisely. You've done a fantastic job all things considered, Jonathan, and before you object further, no, you're not being pulled from the mission. We'd like nothing more than to be able to relieve you of this burden and pass it over fully to the Ares and her crew, but we can't afford that.
"The Ares is on an intercept course with the Enterprise at this very moment, sadly its shakedown run will be traveling at top speed to reach you as soon as possible. What I need from you is for you and your crew to provide the Ares and her crew with everything you have amassed on your mission so far that might help them against the Xindi. Intelligence, weapons and engine upgrades, flying tips if that's what it takes, but update them as completely as possible in as little time as you can manage."
"What are Enterprise's orders after that? You said we weren't being pulled from the Xindi mission."
"You're not. After you've given Ares all that you can you're to report back to the Sol system ASAP. Enterprise will report to Jupiter Station for maintenance, refits, weapons' upgrades... as soon as you're fit and stocked you'll rejoin the Ares."
Archer tried to digest all the information at once. "Why wasn't I informed of any of these plans before now?"
Forrest's lips thinned. "We felt it would be a security risk for you to know that an Earth ship designed for combat was being built. If the Xindi captured you and managed to extract that information and struck against the Ares before she was operational it would have spelled disaster for Earth because it would mean Enterprise and Ares were both out of commission."
Archer could not argue with the logic, even if it did irk him. T'Pol would probably admire the practicality of Starfleet's actions.
"Admiral..." Archer said testily, "Enterprise is fit now to continue the mission. We'd appreciate the help the Ares can offer, but it's not necessary to divert all the way back to Sol for a tune-up. We're ready and willing to keep going."
"I knew you'd say that. I understand how you feel, and I can sympathize with and even admire the effort and time your crew has put into this mission, but Enterprise is not built for fighting and you know it. Even with these upgrades she won't be a warship, but she'll be better off than she is with what she has now. You won't be abandoning the hunt for the Xindi, the Ares will be carrying on in your stead."
"All due respect," Archer pressed, "but we've held our own pretty damn well so far."
"No arguments, but you have also been very lucky. This isn't a request, Captain, it's an order. The best outcome we can hope for from this series of events will leave Earth with two well-equipped ships to face a hostile force. Starfleet feels the inactivity of Enterprise for a short time to achieve that is worth the sacrifice."
Archer seethed inwardly, and outwardly sagged. An order was an order and he knew when he'd pushed his comrade past the point where he would bend. "Understood."
As he disengaged the link with Starfleet he idly turned his eyes down to the patiently waiting and watching dog at his feet. Archer was looking down at Porthos but his mind was on the conversation he'd just had with Admiral Forrest. His crew was not going to be any happier about this than he was.
It was a briefing he was not looking forward to at all.
*****
The passion they created, the flurry of desire, as he moved into her, alien and right. All of her with all of him. The rhythm as they rocked as one, the oneness of motion. His hand on her thigh, his mouth on her throat. Her hands on his back, her body arching into his with primal alacrity.
The cascade, the fall, the sweet desert onto which he lowered his tired body, the embodied Vulcan sands that embraced him in the aftermath and the peace. The desire. The passion. The love.
Commander Tucker awoke with a gasp and for a second blinked up vacantly at the ceiling. His mind was racing, jumbled with memories so real his skin prickled.
When the images faded back to their proper place in the corner of his mind, when he finally managed to shake himself free of the last vestiges of his dreams, he laid quietly. For a minute he had every intention of merely going back to sleep but it became obvious in short order that he would never be able to sleep after that wake-up call.
Heaving a sigh, Trip turned his head to look at the chronometer. His sigh turned into a groan. 0350 hours.
Trip growled angrily and moved to get up, mood only worsened when the initial attempts to move only ignited a plane of complaints from his body. Yesterday's abuses had festered in his sparse sleep and he was sore as all hell.
Cranky and cramped, Trip got out of bed and shuffled absently toward his bathroom. He still had a couple more hours before he had to report for his duty shift and he didn't know what he'd do to fill that time.
An arrested attempt to disrobe for a morning shower convinced him that, however he ended up occupying himself, a primary destination would be sickbay to get Doctor Phlox to give him something for his myriad aches and pains.
Somehow this was all T'Pol's fault.
*****
Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather did not make it a habit to spend breakfast in one another's company, but as luck would have it both ensigns were up early that particular day and ran into each other on the way to the mess hall. They were as friendly toward one another as anyone else among the crew, comrades and comfortable in each other's company, but among the bridge crew Hoshi and Travis were perhaps the most dissimilar. Hoshi had never really wanted to travel in space; Travis was born and raised on spaceships. She put up with it because it was her job and she was able to learn completely alien languages on her current assignment; Travis would be out of place anywhere but in space.
It was just enough of a rift to ensure they never became best friends, but regular friends was entirely possible and already they were congenial colleagues.
When they stepped into the mess hall it was all but barren at this hour. A couple of crewmen were eating breakfast, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and chef was gearing up for a full day of serving food to the Enterprise crew.
Hoshi and Travis both noticed Commander Tucker sitting alone at a table at the same time. He was partially slumped in his chair, tray before him from which he dispassionately picked at something that resembled scrambled eggs.
Hoshi and Travis approached the solitary officer.
"Morning, Commander," Hoshi greeted.
Trip looked up and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Didn't know you two made a habit of early risin'."
Hoshi offered a smile. "I wanted to get in some extra work on a translation I've been trying to crack today before my shift started."
Travis pipped in, "Mind if we join you for breakfast, sir?"
Trip shook his head, "Please," and gestured toward the empty chairs around him. He acted kindly enough but there was a dullness to his words that implied he either didn't really want company or would himself make pretty lousy company. It deterred neither ensign.
Hoshi sat down while Travis went to get some chow. The communication's officer looked down at Trip's tray. It was half-eaten and the way Trip was picking at it absently she suspected he'd been at it for a while.
"When did you wake up, Commander?"
Trip's mouth pursed, his brow darkened, then he shrugged and pushed again at his eggs. "Too damn early, that's for sure, but anyway, what translation was it ya were so gung ho to work on that it was worth wakin' up this early?"
Hoshi didn't miss his blatant attempt to change the subject but she allowed it without protest. If Trip didn't want to discuss what was bothering him she had no right to pry, and he was a senior officer.
"A Xindi translation. At first I thought it might be a unique dialect among the insectoid species, which I have not encountered yet among any of the Xindi specie languages we've discovered, but when I paid attention to the context in which it appears... my hunch is that the insectoid Xindi use a distinct form of verbal communication for mercantilistic exchanges, which, if it's true, would be intriguing," she noted the rather displeased shadow cross Trip's face and amended, "uh, source aside."
Trip gave a silent nod. Travis joined them with a tray of breakfast foods and two cups of coffee. He passed one cup to Hoshi then handed over two slices of toast and a halved grapefruit to the grateful young woman.
"Is everything all right, Commander?" Travis inquired.
"Fine, Travis, just listenin' to Hoshi talk about that insectoid translation that's got her all fired up."
Hoshi took a bite of toast and smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd call it 'fired up'," she paused a moment, "not in the sense you seemed to be last night, so I've heard."
Trip's eyes rose questioningly to the woman as he ceased poking at his scrambled eggs.
Hoshi obliged. "Lieutenant Reed told me that you and T'Pol were quite brutal last night in the self-defense training."
Trip scowled. "Malcolm made more of it than there was. We just got a little overzealous."
Travis's eyebrows rose. "An overzealous Vulcan? I'd have paid to see that. I can't picture T'Pol getting worked up."
Trip gave a strange little smirk that vanished almost instantly. Hoshi's eyebrow flickered at seeing the fleeting gesture but she held her peace.
Instead, Hoshi said for Travis's benefit, "Lieutenant Reed said it was a real show, even stopped the MACOs in the middle of what they were doing. I'm sorry I missed it myself."
Trip sighed raggedly. "Well, I paid for that little stunt this mornin', woke up so sore I counted myself lucky to make it to the mess hall without endin' up on my ass."
Travis smiled after swallowing a piece of sausage. "I can imagine, going head-to-head against a Vulcan and getting 'carried away'... lucky you came away walking at all."
Trip didn't respond at first, perhaps a perfectly natural lag in conversation, but Hoshi sat close enough and was keen enough to register a distracted, glazed expression on Trip's face. He was physically at the mess hall table with them, but mentally he was anywhere but.
The three lapsed into casual, friendly conversation as Travis and Hoshi finished their breakfast, the entire time Trip pushing the remainder of his food around the tray like he was herding the eggs.
Other crewmen soon began to trickle into the mess and before long a regular attendance had coalesced around them, gathered around tables in talkative groups, the last minute cram before shifts started.
One of those later arrivals was Malcolm Reed. He walked into the common room and spotted Trip, Hoshi, and Travis chatting amiably over abandoned trays. He swooped by the chow line for a quick grab at some food then made a bee-line for their table.
"Do you have room for one more?" he asked.
"Pull up a seat, Malcolm," Trip implored, in somewhat better spirits than Hoshi and Travis had first found him.
Reed seated himself between Trip and Hoshi and launched into his food with due haste.
"Easy there, Malcolm, we're not at tactical alert," Trip teased.
Reed washed down a mouthful of jammed biscuits with orange juice then retorted, "Maybe you have time to dally, but when I woke up and read the message from the captain it meant I only had about ten minutes for breakfast."
"What message from the cap'n?"
"You didn't get it?" Reed seemed puzzled.
Trip answered cryptically, "I checked my messages last night, but I left my quarters pretty early this mornin'."
Reed nodded. "Ahh, well, that explains it, according to the message Captain Archer sent it an hour ago to all senior officers."
"Well, what was the message?"
"A senior staff meeting in the briefing room before shifts."
Trip frowned, pensive. "Any idea what this is about?"
Reed shook his head and looked at the chronometer. "No, but we'd better get a move on if we don't want to be late for it."
Trip and Reed rose, bid Travis and Hoshi farewell, then after dropping their trays off at the counter left the mess hall and headed at a fairly brisk walk toward the briefing room.
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