Similitudes

By Asso

My dear friends, readers of my stories.

This one, this story that I hope you will enjoy, has a peculiar place and a peculiar meaning.

I don't know if you have read my "Depths", but both to those who did that and to those who did not that, I want to explain that this is a sequel of that story. ("Depths" is not here; it is unfit to this site, because it is NC-17. But if you are older than 18 and if you want to read it, it is on TrianxianSilkj

"Depths" started from Harbinger and unfolds after it, showing what is obvious - at least for me - namely that the first night of love of our couple wasn't the only one they shared before Home. So it is clear that the present story takes place after Harbinger.

This story begins from E2, but, as with "Depths," it will unfold for some time after that episode.

I would prefer that you don't have too much information about this story before you read it, because I think it would be better that the surprises that I have in store aren't revealed in advance. (Surprises that I eagerly hope you will appreciate.)

Nevertheless, it's most likely a good thing that I tell you something.

First: Trip has a certain awareness, as it seems, of T'Pol. She keeps her lips sealed with Trip in the matter of a certain secret little vice of hers, but if Trip...

Second. Please, do not be fooled by the title. You know, I think that I am a little blackguard. (Hey! In a good way, that's for sure!). Consequently, my dear friends, the title has nothing to do with Sim. He isn't at all involved.

Oh well! "But then why this title?" you would say. Eh my friends, it is "Similitudes" (plural), not "Similitude" (singular). If you want to understand something, take the time to read my story, please.

And try to figure out who (where) is the person who speaks; or, rather, who thinks.

So, my dear friends, have I been capable of arousing your curiosity? I hope so.

And, I hope my dear Dinah, who patiently wanted to help me again, that you will do this endless times yet; because your ability is priceless.

Chapter One

Where?

Something was wrong.

Trip got up from his desk. He was unable to concentrate that night. He had thought it might be a good thing that he had locked himself in his small office. Trip chuckled without cheerfulness. Well, at least in what remained of his office. His idea had been that in its solitude he would be able to complete all the innumerable things that he hadn't been able to do during the day. Yes, engines were working well, now, but he had to think not only about them; every function on the ship, every repair job depended on him and he had to organize all jobs and all team work so that the ship was able to regain its full operativeness. Even now his people were working hard everywhere, without rest, in the middle of the artificial night of Enterprise, following his directives. But the continuing emergency situation they were in, didn't allow him to easily program these directives, and so he had to steal time from his sleep. Trip chuckled again with bitter amusement. Well, obviously no one should be aware of that, above all T'Pol and even less Phlox; otherwise… hell to pay! And also this thought had pushed him to go to his office that night. It was very private, and nobody would think he was there, instead of in his quarters. Most likely T'Pol would, but by now she…

Trip ceased abruptly to giggle foolishly and looked around.

No, it hadn't been a good idea.

The image of T'Pol, sitting on his small sofa, even if nothing remained of it now but a few skeletal fragments, sprang vividly to his mind. It seemed that he was able to smell her fragrance, as at that time. Trip sighed. Deeply. That time had somehow been their first date, when they had worked together to try to figure out that strange thing, that space anomaly, that had pushed the two of them to think that…(*)

And before it happened... for real. (*)

Oh well, admitting that it hadn't already happened someway and somewhere. Neither he nor T'Pol, not to mention the doctor, had talked with anyone of those…of those dreams-not-dreams. Too embarrassing for all of them, especially for T'Pol. (*)

T'Pol… Just her.

Trip sat down heavily. He looked at the screen; no, nothing to do. During the day, the mess which surrounded him was quite able to take his mind off of his nagging thoughts about her, but being alone...

In this way, regardless of anything, even in the upheaval that permeated all things, even in the anguish for the darkness of the future, even… even in the heartbreaking sorrow for the death of his little sister, even in the guilt he felt because of his indulging in such a personal and nearly egoistic feeling while Enterprise, his world, his race, Humanity's destiny, seemed to be racing towards an ineluctable end… even in all that, T'Pol's thought was the black hole which was gulping his brain, distracting him in a way it shouldn't be. And there, in that noiseless and solitary office, tired to the extreme, fully aware that the weight of keeping the ship operational was all on his shoulders, regardless of all this or maybe because of all this, Trip was unable to fight against this haunting thought.

And his mind was working without a pause.

And it perceived that there was something strange.

Something wrong.

Here?

It was evident for Trip that things weren't going as T'Pol had thought they would; her behaviour was clearly demonstrating that. Oh sure, Trip had been aware of the fact that the change T'Pol had undergone wouldn't allow her to behave as if anything had happened. She didn't know this, she wasn't able. She was a Vulcan, but Trip was a Human. And this had been his hope. Sooner or later, T'Pol would understand.

She would have to understand!

But there was something beyond all that in T'Pol's behaviour; there was something really wrong.

Too much, too wrong.

There?

Trip pondered to himself. Regardless that only he was completely privy to the behavioural changes of T'Pol, and, even more, of the true reasons concealed behind them, these changes were a matter of fact, and Trip knew that it wasn't possible for T'Pol to easily accept all that. Or at least… - Trip took a slight sigh - … at least not yet.

Trip made a little bitter smile. Eh sure, most likely he had become by now the greatest expert in Vulcan mindset, particularly – his sad smile deepened a little – in regard to Vulcan females. To one Vulcan female, to tell the truth.

So, that T'Pol's attempt to regain her Vulcan composure would happen to his cost... well, Trip had been aware of that, as well as the fact that all he would be able to do was grin and bear it, exactly... exactly as he had done.

Trip sighed again, with bitter self-pity. By now, that was his road; his liberty was gone, together with his pride. T'Pol had marked him forever; he knew this in all clarity. But Trip also knew, he wanted to have this awareness, that T'Pol's attempt would have been futile.

And here was the point.

Trip began to nervously beat with his fingers on the desk. His mind was going on working. Actually, T'Pol's conduct seemed to give him reason, but, not everything in T'Pol's behaviour was able to be explained in this manner. Yes. There was something else.

And this something else had to be all, except good.

Here and there?

What was going on?

T'Pol's behaviour looked abnormal. He was able to see that. Let's leave aside the illogic of her conduct - no, even more... her complete lack of control at his harsh remarks when she had stupidly thought of saving the captain by thrusting herself into the wolf's den - was a clear demonstration of an unequivocal deviance in her mind. The real problem was that there was a subtle and constant continuum of perceptible signals, besides that nonsensical intention on her part and besides that unexplainable outburst. She seemed uncertain. She seemed… scared, somehow. She seemed like she was fighting some kind of war within herself, but - Trip didn't know how - he sensed that it wasn't the exact combat that he had expected from her, after the perceptions he had had in their second night of love; or, at least, it wasn't only that kind of fight. (**)Trip was able to detect perfectly all those alarming signals.

Well, obviously nobody was able to detect these signals, nobody else except him.

But he had his good reasons.

Or here?

Inevitably his mind went back to those nights. Sure, nobody else knew T'Pol better… and deeper… than him. Nobody else knew how passionate and… end even emotional T'Pol was capable of being. Those nights had been...

Oh bah! Enough with this useless fighting within. Stop, stop, stop, stop. AND STOP! Being consumed... this would only make things worse.

He tried to swallow his bitterness. He had to foot the bill. That was the price he had to pay to allow her to control her disquiet; he knew it all along. Too much fear from her, too much confusion and incertitude.

She wasn't yet ready. She was losing her Vulcan composure, and in a certain way, her Vulcan essence.

And so... she had left him.

Or there?

Somehow Trip was in readiness for that. This... namely that T'Pol would leave him… this would happen. This thought had stirred in the depth of his soul, all along. But he wanted to believe it wasn't the end.

In reality, he knew - someway he had had this awareness since their second night – that his life would be so, henceforth.

T'Pol would use him as a punching bag.

And nevertheless, even if he hadn't had the courage to tell her, he knew that he was in love with her, and he… loved her too much. He wasn't able to help but be her punching bag.

Trip smiled sadly to himself.

But what else could he do? And, to fill up the measure, the irony of all that was that in reality… eh…in reality this unbearable situation was a consequence of T'Pol's weakness. Eh sure; T'Pol's, not his. And all he was able to do was to understand; to force himself to comprehend. He knew that T'Pol needed him even while telling him that she didn't need him, and, consequently and above all, he knew why T'Pol had been unable to leave him.

But… Damnit and damnit and damnit!... He loved her too much to tell her why.

Where?

Trip laughed with bitter sarcasm within himself.

Oh yeah. He was the truly tough one, not T'Pol, even if the whole world would grin at this statement. But things were so. Now he was aware of that. But he wouldn't reveal such a thing to anyone, not even at gunpoint, not even on pain of death, because…

Trip sighed again, more deeply. More sadly.

… Because he loved her too much.

And so, he had to defend her Vulcaness.

Here, here.

That was the issue. In order to protect her, even from herself, even from the eventuality that her changing could irreparably hurt her, Trip had been in an impossible position. He couldn't talk about it or, even less, ask T'Pol why she wanted to leave him. He couldn't push her to face herself. But he knew. He had been perfectly aware of why. He knew why, after those marvellous nights, she had wanted to backpedal for the second time. And with those damn words, with those words… purposely… awfully… capable of wounding.

Or, maybe, there

They resounded in his mind.

"Commander, I suppose I must really thank you. You were truly useful, but now I deem that I have achieved a complete knowledge of the subject. I am an expert, as much as suffices, now. Any further exploration of Human sexual behaviour is not needed anymore."

He had felt his hands itch.

Or both here and there?

He felt his hands itch even now.

If the first time, the morning after their first night together, he had wanted to strangle her(**), this second time he had wanted to cover her with a hail of blows, to massacre her with his bare hands. And her Vulcan strength couldn't have done anything.

He had been able to stop himself just in time.

But where?

The first instants had been terrible. Confusion, incredulity, pain… Then, for a moment, he had thought to throw to her another bait, as the first time, when he had told her that there were no reason to interrupt their Neuropressure sessions, so that she might have an excuse to receive him again, without disavowing what she had said. But he hadn't done it. Things were not the same; now, there was too much between the two of them. The causes of her retreating were deeper this time. Trip knew it, and just because of that, he had sensed that she was only partially struggling within because of what she had done; she was also concerned because of her guilty... her illogically guilty…awareness of the woman she had become; and because of her fear of the past and of their future.

Some other reason was concealed deep within her.

Where!

Trip relived his sensations of those moments. Even in the rage and in the pain he had felt, he realized that there was a hidden and upsetting ghost behind T'Pol's inexplicably harsh words. He perceived the existence of this dark shadow in T'Pol since her first attempt to slip away after the night they first made love. And this second time, the hardness per se of her words was the clearest validation of his perceptions. She was no longer capable of repressing what was hidden in her depths, and she was no longer able to share with him days... and nights and still keep her secrets inside her.

She had wanted to escape.

She had needed to escape.

Here, sure. Here.

He hadn't been capable of saying anything. Not even of trying to joke.

He had watched her silently, while she was turning around.

And going away.

Or there?

And still, even in his speechlessness, even in the dumb anger which gnawed him inside, Trip had sensed that there was something weird.

Unspoken.

Why, after so many tangible proofs that she wanted him and his love... why, even in her blind need to sever their relationship because she was incapable of facing up to her new inner turmoil – unknown to her and, because of that, impossible to be borne by her to such an extent that she felt the need to flee from them – why even in the confusion she felt had T'Pol decided to appear so harsh? There was no reason, at that point. Where was… the logic of that?

Or there and also here?

Her hidden ghost, the shadow inside her.

Her secret.

But what the hell was the secret she kept encapsulated within, a secret which she was so ashamed of that she felt unable to stay with him because she was aware that it was unfair and impossible not to share all things between lovers and that sooner or later she should reveal to him this infamous secret? Infamous, yes, there couldn't be any other word to define it, because only something really infamous, at least in her belief, could have pushed T'Pol to act so badly, and to pronounce those infamous words in an attempt to hurt him so much that he would definitely send her to the devil.

Trip sighed. But he knew there was nothing which could possibly be called infamous about T'Pol. By now, he knew her well enough to know that nothing less than the best could possibly exist in her depths. The infamy of those words was only the glint of her fear; she was so afraid that she could lose him if he became aware of her secret that she preferred to lose him by the force of a planned rejection.

Better to refuse him than to lose him.

Logical, the Vulcans, aren't they? Or was it the fact that most likely women can't help but be women, all the time and everywhere?

There, there. Sure, there.

Trip has nearly laughed aloud. The image of T'Pol raising her eyebrow if he had told his idea about women's logic, flashed in his mind.

Then his bitter cheerfulness got drowned in the river of his discontent.

He would no longer be able to chuckle softly inside at the sight of that raised eyebrow, chiding him in a way that T'Pol was wont to do only to him.

Trip sat down slowly on his bunk.

No. Here.

Yeah, he would no longer be able to relish these sweet sensations.

No. Both there and here.

Yeah, sure. But… Trip scowled, trying to put some order in his thoughts. But there was more. And this multiplied his worry to the nth power – his worry for T'Pol's health.

Oh damn! Where?

As he had done during those days, those long, interminable weeks, beaten by the anguish of the ordeal Enterprise was going through and by the anguish due to the fact that he was desperately missing T'Pol, Trip brooded one more time over the more and more evident way with which T'Pol was shutting herself in solitude.

Time had passed after those hurting words from her, and obviously there had been no more neuropressure sessions; they had avoided each other as much as possible. Of course, what else could they have done? Nevertheless, Trip had been able to see her growing uneasiness, at least… Trip clenched his lips strongly … at least until she had decided to avoid everyone. Everyone, not only him.

Everywhere?

Okay, certainly he was able to understand that T'Pol was trying in any way to avoid him, so she could avoid any question and any possible temptation, but now she was keeping to herself a lot, even more than usual. She was spending every free moment in her quarters, and she even had asked Chef to bring her meals there. He… he hadn't been able to help but inquire about her, more or less discreetly.

But the fact was that T'Pol was no longer the lonely Vulcan from the beginning of their voyage; she was a true member of Enterprise, now. And let's suppose that she was also attempting to regain her Vulcaness in this stupid way. Maybe she thought that it was logical, damn her logic and her logical mind! Nevertheless, loneliness wasn't a good thing for anyone, not even for a strong and logical Vulcan, especially in the Expanse. Not to mention that she was skillful enough to be aware of the danger her behaviour could entail, and being the First Officer, it was her duty to care of the crew's health. Consequently, she was even charged with caring for her own health.

And T'Pol never would neglect her duty.

What? Everywhere?

Trip got up suddenly, suddenly gripped be a sort of hazy fear.

T'Pol... could she possibly be sick?

She looked haggard lately; her skin seemed to have lost its sheeny appearance, and her gleaming eyes looked less vivid. Maybe the others were unable to perceive those changes in her, but he, Trip, was; oh yes, he was, even for the few, short moments he had been able to observe T'Pol.

After all, there could be a good reason for her to be… to be sick: the... the thought of what she had done with him and the thought of what she had done to him afterwards; the secret that he was sure she was hiding inside her; the fight that surely she had waged and was still waging against that secret, both to conceal it and to handle it; and the fight that she was waging against herself and against him, Trip; not to mention the weight of the mission and of her duties...

Wasn't that enough to make her sick? Mentally and maybe also physically?

Okay, she was the strongest person he knew, but enough is enough, both for Humans and for Vulcans.

And the Expanse? Couldn't it affect T'Pol in the same negative way it seemed to affect everything and everyone? Maybe... maybe even more seriously? Trip began to pace the room swiftly, unable to stay still, the fear increasing inside him. And that secret... could it be something connected with that? Could it be… DAMN…DAMN IT! Could it be, by chance, a... a disease? Maybe...maybe a serious illness? What if he totally misunderstood and the fear he felt from T'Pol wasn't the fear of some sort of ignominious thing she kept inside - ignominious in her idea, obviously - but the fear that he, Trip, could reject her because of that disease? People do such strange things, sometimes. There are people who feel ashamed of their illnesses, who think they could be treated badly if their diseases were known, even by those who are the closest to them. Sure, such a thing would seem anything but Vulcan, but what the hell did he know about Vulcans? Did they have such ideas about illnesses? They were such private persons; maybe illnesses were something they wanted to keep inside and that they didn't want to reveal to anyone, even to their mates, in any way and at any cost.

Their… mates.

Trip abruptly stopped his pacing up and down, frowned, and began to rub his palms against each other while tormenting the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Trip knew, he knew for sure, that he and T'Pol were mates, love mates, by now, even if T'Pol denied it. And mates, love mates, care the deepest for each other. So if T'Pol, by chance… if she was trying… If… if… if T'Pol's illness was truly real and she was not trying to prevent him from becoming aware that she was sick, but, in reality, maybe she was attempting to prevent him from being in pain? Or was she endeavouring to avoid his suffering?

If she had such a serious disease that… that…

He... he had seen T'Pol in the sickbay. Headache... She had said she had a headache. A Vulcan with a headache. An excuse, surely. He had merely thought she had wanted to go swiftly from his presence, and it hadn't been easy for him to behave normally. But then, why was she really in sickbay? Headache? And... and what if wasn't it a simple headache? What the hell had really happened on the Seleya, on that damned Vulcan ship of death? Oh sure, he knew all about that, and he had cursed the captain from the depth of his heart for having allowed T'Pol to run such risks after having seen the images of what had occurred to the Vulcans who had ventured into the Expanse, those image they had watched just before they had departed for their mission.

But and if in reality he didn't know - exactly, completely - what had happened to T'Pol? If there were some awful consequences for her?

If the feelings, the unspoken love he felt T'Pol had for him was such that... that she had wanted to chase him away by what seemed to her to be the surest way, before their liaison could become too deep. Could it be that she wanted to break off their relationship before he died by… by seeing her die?

Pearls of cold sweat ran along Trip's back.

That would indeed be in T'Pol's character, as far as he knew; and he knew a lot, now. She only showed the tip of what appeared as an cold iceberg, but hid underwater an enormous mountain of passion.

Of love.

Restrained, bridled, unknown even by her. But it was there.

And love pushes us to do such strange things, such illogical things.

Trip started to open and close his fists, unable to think coherently, incapable of acknowledging the irrationality of the road along which his thoughts had taken him.

He was in despair, incapable of recognizing that there was no solid basis for his fears. Nothing but his despair itself.

He was merely in despair.

This... no! Lizzie... Lizzie and... and then T'Pol?

T'Pol? T'POL? T'POL!

No! She, no!

Let her stay away from him, let her be only a heartbreaking and never-fulfilled desire. But she had to be here. SHE HAD TO BE HERE!

It was not possible that things would end like this. IT WAS NOT POSSIBLE!

It was inconceivable. Unacceptable. Il... illogical, damn it!

It was, it was...

But not! It's here!

It was... delirious!

All of a sudden, Trip became aware of the course of his thoughts. And they were delirious. He was building in his mind a construct sine materia, without substance; he was giving body to shadows, drowning in a sea without water.

He plopped heavily down on his bed.

He wearily rubbed his hands on his face.

God, he was so tired.

He had always had a runaway imagination. Nobody who hasn't plunged into studies as hard as those he had to cope with to become a capable engineer is able to understand how vivid fantasies cannot be separated from the logical perspicuity needed by science. But those images weren't part of his lively imagination; they were dreams, nightmares. Sure! Empty nightmares devoid of any reality! The only reality was that he was tired, damned tired, and his mind was losing itself in its exhaustion.

He was losing himself in his exhaustion, in his prostration. Trip looked ahead, without seeing anything. In his solitude. In his harrowing desire.

His need.

For his T'Pol.

Or there?

Eh sure. Sure. Fantasies. Frothy figments of his jaded brain. Of the gruelling pain of his soul.

And yet...

Trip got up again, crossing his arms over his chest. Frowning, he wrinkled his forehead and fixed his eyes ahead, as if observing in the air the image of the tangled feelings he had inside.

As if seeking...

And yet, the hidden secret did exist. There was something that tormented T'Pol, he was certain. And T'Pol was behaving very oddly. And... Trip lowered his chin on his chest. And it was true that T'Pol didn't look well.

She was suffering.

Trip uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists and his lips and his eyes.

T'Pol was suffering.

And he couldn't allow this.

Trip felt a sort of blind rage within.

He couldn't. He had to stop this.

Whether the matter was the secret he suspected or not, whether it was her struggling within for what she had done or even for what she hadn't done, whatever the hell it was, he had to stop T'Pol's suffering.

He had to do something. NOW!

Trip turned around and headed for the door, taking great strides. He opened it and dashed outside.

It was late. Okay! To hell if it was late! To hell if she didn't want to see him! To hell if she had chased him away! To hell with everything!

T'Pol needed him! SHE DID NOT HAVE TO SUFFER!

Or here?

To hell, to hell, to hell!

To... to hell...

T'Pol's door was in front of Trip.

To... hell...

He halted, and stared at the closed door.

To...

There, before that door, his rampage came to an end, suddenly, as an impetuous wind which turns into a faint breeze.

Beyond it, inside, there was T'Pol.

The woman who had changed his life - who had given him life again and who then had taken away it from him.

With those words.

And he had no longer entered her room after those words from her.

After their last night of love.

Hesitant, uncertain, he was standing in front of that door, gazing at it, unable to come to a decision. To push the doorbell.

What should he do? Did he dare go inside? And why? How? What words should he say? What reasons could he give T'Pol for his visit to her quarters at this hour?

And... how strongly would his heart beat, entering that room which had been the coffer of their love? How would this heart react, seeing T'Pol there again, kneeling on the cushions for her meditation, as he knew she was doing just then? Did he dare look at her in the sweet and enchanting half-shadow of the candlelight that had enwrapped their moments of passionate intimacy? Would she be dressed for the night, the pyjamas which his greedy hands had removed so many times from her firm body, with her eager assistance, allowing her to give herself to him?

Trip continued to stand there, motionless, rubbing his palms against his trousers, tormenting his tongue between his teeth, against his cheek.

The sensations of their love filled his soul. He relived again the anticipation he had felt while he was waiting before that door, expecting her call to him to come in her room. The anticipation for her love.

The sensations... and the thoughts.

Trip scowled thoughtfully when he recalled the thoughts he he'd had when he'd unfalteringly resolved to continue to pursue T'Pol - from being the love thorn stuck into her heart, a thorn that she would never be able to extract.

Trip breathed deeply, almost angrily.

Oh good, man, very good. What a love thorn you are. Really determined, let me say. Are her stubborn attitude and her words clearly said on purpose enough to discourage you? Oh well, in this case, most likely she is absolutely right. What the hell could she do with a man like this one?

His father's words resounded suddenly and strongly in his mind. "A man, a gentleman, a true man, cannot have a woman who doesn't want to be had by him. But a man, a gentleman, a true man, if he indeed loves her, has to be ready to pursue her love and to be to her side, if he senses that she needs his help. And this man, if he is a man, mustn't wonder too much. He must merely offer his help discreetly without embarrassing her, without asking anything of her. Because if this man is truly in love with this woman, he has to have only one thought: her happiness. Remember, my son, she is the one who counts, not you."

Trip, clenched his lips with force.

It was as if his father was there, speaking to him. "You, YOU, my son, if you really love her, you must offer her your aid, regardless of anything. Regardless of your fear, and of your wounded feelings, regardless of how badly she may have treated you. You must help the woman who helped you, but above all, the woman whom you…"

… whom I love.

And Trip rang the bell.

End of chapter one (Here or there?)

(*) I have to excuse me, but you should read my story Puck (that is published on this site), to fully understand Trip's thoughts.

(**) And here – you must excuse me again - you should read my Depths (that, as I said, is published on TriaxianSilk). But if you prefer not do that because of its rating (NC 17), please, let me say that you can understand the present story independently of that other story.