By Aleda Gildeth
Disclaimer: If you hire me, I won't be breaking the rules anymore. J
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, Romance, Character Death
Archive?: Absolutely, but please give notice (medalsia@hotmail.com)
Summary: What if it hadn't been Trip injured, but T'Pol?
Spoilers: You may find this story more interesting if you've seen 'Similitude', being able to identify the parallels and diversions from the original episode. However, if you haven't seen it, this one can stand on its own too.
Author's Note: I'm completely rewriting the episode from the very beginning. I'm also experimenting by telling the first and second halves of the story at the same time. This will be told almost entirely from Trip's point of view. Scenes from the second half will be in unmodified text and in present tense, while scenes from the first half will be in italics and in past tense, almost as flashbacks, with echoes of other scenes paralleled in them. … I've never tried this before. Hopefully I can pull it off.
PROLOGUE
From the prow of the Enterprise a single torpedo was issued. Upon no enemy was it fired; towards no target did it travel. Its shell carried not destruction, but the destroyed. Thus is began its long journey which, unhindered by gravity or force, would last as long as death itself. Silently it slipped away from all things familiar, as smoothly as the first slivers of ice down a freezing river, carrying its charge: the body of Sub-Commander T'Pol.
Act I – Scenes 1 - 2
Sickbay isn't supposed to be this quiet.
It's not silent in here. Not really. There's still the noise from the hallways outside. The rustling of creatures in their cages. The disembodied hums and clicks of machinery. Whir. Click. Beep. Shhh.
But below that there is nothing. Nothing of breathing, nothing of movement, nothing from the drawn curtains I stand in front of, too afraid to pull them aside.
How can there be nothing? …How can there be nothing if she's there?
I don't want this to be happening.
But it's happened.
I draw the curtain aside, and find the origin of the quiet mechanical sounds. An EKG to monitor the insignificant blips of her brainwaves; machines to count every beat of her heart, to scream for her if it stops; a respirator to keep her suspended between life and death.
Whir. Click. Beep. Shhh.
All feeling seems to drain from my body. But what was I expecting? Brown eyes, a greeting, a lifted eyebrow?
Not this.
I walk in, letting the curtain fall closed behind me. There are sensors and electrodes everywhere. Tubes in her arms. Another down her throat. She looks absent, frail. She's small, but when she's awake, even meditating, there's a presence about her. A power. A confidence. A control.
Now there's nothing. A blank expression. A missing warmth. She seems… gone.
"…T'Pol?"
My voice croaks. She doesn't answer. What was I expecting?
I reach down and take her hand – and almost pull away. Her skin is cold, her fingers limp.
There's a chair. Without releasing her hand I pull it over and sit. It's too low for me to be able to look down at her; I look at her profile instead.
This is all my fault.
It had seemed like such a great idea. A steady warp 5, without tremors or structural trauma. I had, in truth, been working on the thought for several months before the attack on Earth – kind of a pet project I used to fill my time. But with the attack and Lizzy's death I hadn't been able to focus, and the new mission had taken up most of my time and passion. As things had settled into a pattern though, and – thanks to T'Pol – I'd started being able to deal with the grief and dreams, I'd found the logs and the data and started working on it again.
This time it was no longer a pet project. It was for the mission, for Lizzy, for getting there and stopping anything and everything from happening, then getting the hell out before something else happened.
Six days ago I had stumbled across the answers to several of the equation's variables in the engine's design. There was only one more variable to define, and I'd have the answer. I had been so confidant I had handed engineering over to Lt. Hess, sure I'd have the answer in a couple days.
But every time I'd thought I was close, something had always come out wrong.
I spent endless hours on the equation. I got up at six, skipped breakfast, and headed straight for the command center to run values and scenarios. Lunch was picked at in front of the wide screens and forgotten the moment I found a new possibility. Dinner would be whatever was left in the mess hall by ten pm. By day four I'd been exhausted.
It hadn't helped that I'd cancelled two neuropressure sessions with T'Pol to work on the problem. I'd been hoping that she'd come by the command center to do work of her own, and I could pull her into helping me with my project. But she never came.
The only thing I concluded during those first four days was that not seeing her was more distracting than a night's missed sleep. My whole body ached with fatigue and deeper. I was missing my time with her. The room, the muted glow of candles, the warm silence… Everything I had come to associate with sanctuary in the past months.
On the fourth afternoon, she had sent me a message offering a session that night to make up for the other two, if I needed it. I responded with an affirmative: Definitely. Thanks. That evening I had set the computer to run another simulation and rushed off to her quarters, far later than I was supposed to be, but hoping she'd still see me.
I should have cancelled. I should never have gone. This would never have happened.
Whir. Click. Beep. Shhh.
This is all my fault.
Her face is vacant and washed of color, her body kept alive more by machines than by its own will. Phlox says there's a chance she'll make it; but, unspoken, there's a greater chance she won't. And now we're stuck here in this hellhole, being drained of power. If we don't get out soon, no one will make it.
I don't know how to save them.
Even if we get out of here, if we loose too much power or have to divert too much to the engines to pull the ship out the machines keeping T'Pol alive will fail. And we're reaching that point far faster than I can come up with a solution.
I need her to make it. I need her to open her eyes and tell me I'm being illogical and irrational and human. Tell me I'm being unnecessarily emotional. Because I'm not. I need her to come back to me.
I need her.
"T'Pol?" There's no response, no sign that the woman in front of me is anything more than a deserted shell. My eyes burn with tears, and I let my head fall to her shoulder, my voice hoarse and cracking.
"…I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
**********************
"I'm so sorry, T'Pol," I said breathlessly.
I was late. Really late. Don't-even-bother-coming late. T'Pol's-gonna-kick-my-ass late. And-I-deserve-it-late.
The polite thing to do would have been to comm. her and apologize and tell her I wasn't coming. I knew that. But I had come anyways, taking the corridors at a run, hoping I could find some way to convince her to have the neuropressure session with me despite the late hour. At the very least I wanted her to reprimand me face to face, just so I could see her for a few minutes. She'd probably turn me away, chastise me for missing *another* session, for making her wait, and tell me to suffer the night's consequences. But after four days without seeing her, I couldn't care what she said so long as she was standing in front of me.
"I was working on-" … Why did I think she cared? Screw it. "Nevermind – I didn't think it would take so long. I got here as soon as I could."
Usually she retreated inside without any greeting except the occasional 'good evening', expecting me to enter without cue, the human formality of welcoming someone in no longer necessary between us. But tonight she stood in the doorway, unmoving and unmoved, gazing up at me sternly.
I was right. She was pissed.
"We arranged to meet almost an hour ago."
"I know-"
"We discussed this five days ago. You cannot benefit from the neuropressure if you keep coming late and canceling sessions. Tonight is the third this week."
"Trust me, I know. I'm feelin' it."
"It hasn't seemed to improve your punctuation any."
I winced, and tried again."…I'm sorry for making you wait up-"
"I only waited twenty minutes."
I glanced behind her; all the candles were out. Even the mediation candle. And the lights. Ouch. So she'd been sleeping.
"You have the rather predictable nature of being on time when you're going to be here, and showing up exceptionally late when you've forgotten or become distracted."
Guilt trickled through me. I was being a selfish idiot. I should have kept track of the time. I should have commed her. I shouldn't have come at all.
"I apologize, T'Pol," I said more formally, and this time more sincerely. "I shouldn't have come."
She regarded me starkly for a second, then relaxed ever so slightly; she was no longer irate, but neither was she quite ready to forgive me. "Meet me at breakfast tomorrow, 7:15. We can discuss a time for the next session then." And, I guessed, my undeferential behavior. "In the meantime, try to get some sleep."
I chuckled dryly. We both knew there was little chance of that. But I deserved it. And she deserved to sleep. At least she wasn't angry with me anymore, and if that was all the night would give up, it was enough. I could live another night without sleep. "'Night," I said, turning to leave.
"Good night."
I hung back a moment, watching as she turned away, the door beginning to slide shut. But before it had closed a potentially redeeming idea struck me, and I reached out and caught it. "Hey, wait a sec."
She looked over her shoulder at me, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise and curiosity. I leaned against the doorjamb.
"Let me make it up to you. Let me do the neuropressure on you tonight." I could see her hesitate. "I didn't keep my word to you, and I woke you up. The least I can do is help you get back to sleep."
She gazed at me evenly for a moment, considering my offer. For a second I feared she would turn me down; but then she said, "That would be acceptable," and moved away into the room. Suppressing a grin, I followed her.
The door closed behind me, leaving us in a darkness ebbed only by the interminable glow of the buttons on the control panels around the room, and I could feel the tension of the past four days beginning to drain from my body; just being here was calming.
T'Pol moved to light the candles, but I took her by the shoulders, turning her and giving her a gentle shove towards the mat. "Let me do it; you sit." She went, but not without casting a look of dubiety at me, as though expecting I would light something – maybe myself – on fire.
I picked up the lighter from the shelf and began to light the candles. "I went to Engineering today to deliver some scans; Lt. Hess says you haven't been in Engineering for four days," she said. "…What have you been working on?"
"Making the Vulcan High Command wish I had pointy ears," I said with a grin, and glanced over at her. She responded with a coolly raised eyebrow, as though to point out the chances of that ever happening. "The perfect warp five," I continued, moving to the next cluster of candles. "A smooth ride. No tremors, no threat of structural damage, and no strain on the engines. We wouldn't be stuck playing it safe at warp 3.5 anymore."
"Is that possible?"
I sighed. "According to my evaluations. But I'm still trying to figure the math out. I've got almost every variable accounted for. I just can't pin down the harmonic frequency of the subspace wake created by the ship once I calculate in the modified frequency of the engines. I've got the computer running another test now – that's what took me so long – but I've already run fourteen scenarios, and I can't make heads or tails of the data. It all conflicts."
"…What frequencies have you come up with so far?"
I shook my head absently. "7.85 MGCs is too high, 7.849 too low. All my evaluations and tests show I shouldn't have to attune for anything finer than one-thousandth of a decibel, even if I could. …It just doesn't make sense."
She was silent a moment as I lit the last candle. "…Use my computer. Set the server to send me the results once the test is concluded. I will take a look over them."
I looked over at her. I'd never known T'Pol to leave a problem unsolved, but after how late I'd shown up and rudely awakened her, I was a little surprised at her offer. "Don't you have enough work of your own?"
"If this is as possible and plausible as you say, Enterprise would benefit greatly from it on this mission. There have been several instances already where speed would have been of value; I have little doubt there will be other times where we will need it."
I wasn't about to protest any more than it was necessary to make it look like I could do without her help. Going to her computer, I accessed the simulation files and set the computer to send the final results to her terminal upon completion. "There," I said, closing the files, and returned the lighter to its place on the shelf. As I came and knelt down across from T'Pol she took a breath to ask something more, but I stopped her, putting a finger against her lips and catching myself almost as quickly, hoping the touch had been too brief to be transgressive. "No more shop talk." She looked slightly irked, but only that I had cut into her train of query.
I took her hands in mine, finding the pressure points in the webbing of skin between her index fingers and thumbs. "Close your eyes," I urged her quietly; she did. I started applying pressure to the two points, first gently and steadily, then a little deeper, moving my thumbs in tiny circles over the location.
I moved closer to her, moving my hands up, and began the same application to her wrists, then the back of her arms, just above the elbow. She breathed deeply, and I began to feel the deep aching I'd endured the past couple days lessen.
Getting up, I came around and knelt down behind her. Beginning to work on her shoulders, I realized how tense she was. I could feel the knots running through her muscles, and she winced when I began applying deeper pressure. I murmured an apology and continued gentler. What had she been doing the past four days? I realized I hadn't even asked, and it struck me that her offer for a session tonight might not have been entirely out of concern that I had missed two. I wasn't the only one feeling the effects of the cancelled administrations.
Parting my legs, I moved closer so that I sat with her between my knees. I reached up under her shirt and worked down her back, applying shallow pressure; even the light touch made her wince once more, but she didn't correct me or tell me to stop. When I felt some of the knots begin to loosen I began again at the top of her spine, pressing deeper this time. She took in a sharp breath, a combined inhalation of pain and pleasure, and her hands gripped my legs to steady herself. Still she didn't protest, and I continued, moving down her back, applying deeper pressure as I finally felt her body start to relax.
Finally able to press firmly, I repeated the ministrations a third time. I leaned into her, putting my full weight behind my touch, eliciting a gasp without pain. I worked each point until I felt all the tension drain from her muscles and the knots unravel, and felt her relax under my hands.
I eased off, still massaging deeply but slowing down the circular movements of my fingers, lessening the intensity. She gave a throaty sigh, leaning back into my hands, her body brushing against me. I suppressed a chuckle. "I think you needed this more than I did," I murmured, my mouth close to her ear. She responded with a low, inarticulate "hmmh." My mouth dropped opened a little in surprise, and I hid a smile. I had never seen T'Pol inarticulate. I realized before I could stop myself that I kind of liked it. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," she said softly, and her voice sent a shiver of electricity through me.
I swallowed hard, chastising myself. This was getting dangerous, fast.
But I didn't want to stop.
The thought struck me like a knife in my back, stunning me. It wasn't the sessions I had been missing, the candlelight, the silence, or the room.
It was her.
It was being able to touch her and feel her beneath my hands, feel her breathe. Her presence, her eyes, her voice, the way it was smoky when she spoke low. How being near her was anchoring and enthralling all in the same moment, and how what I had been aching for the past four days had been her.
…Oh, God… What the hell was I going to do now?
"Commander?"
I realized my hands had stopped moving, and looked up to see T'Pol looking over her shoulder at me.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, uh, no. No. I just… I'm just tired." I let her go and rose to my feet, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I need to go…"
I took a step for the door, but she rose and stopped me, an expression of concern on her face. "Wait. You should let me help you-"
"No, T'Pol. I'm fine. I just need to lay down. You should get to bed-" I tried to walk past her, but she stepped in front of me, and I ran into her. She took my arm before I could back peddle, and held me standing there, her concerned expression deepening; all I was aware of was her body brushing against mine, and the extreme temptation to close the distance.
"You need to sleep as well. I can miss a few minutes."
My voice was rough and caught in my throat, and all I could get out in protest before it failed me entirely was her name. "T'Pol…"
But she already had her hands under my shirt, lifting it, and all the air seemed to be gone from my lungs as her hands brushed against my skin –
/Beep/.
I almost jumped as the computer behind us sounded. It was the results of the simulation, I realized, and with relief. T'Pol dropped my shirt and it fell back into place as she moved to the computer, leaving me to stand in the middle of the room, trying to catch my breath and get some semblance of control.
/Beep./
…I should never have sent it.