Author's Note: I don't own them; I'm not sure the converse is true. I do this for love, not money.
Spoilers for "Fusion"; "Home";"Kir'Shara"; "Bound"; "Demons"; and "Terra Prime".
What happens, after T'Pol takes Trip's hand at the end of "Terra Prime?" This extended scenes story gives a possible explanation.
Warning:
This story contains some serious head canon. The most "need to know" is that Trip and T'Pol first encountered one another at Fusion. Trip was wearing his Hawaiian shirt that night. They shared something powerful that neither truly understood.
T'Pol suffers occasional relapses of her trelllium - D addiction; as her E2 self told her, "You will never fully recover".
I struggled for a time with what Trip might call T'Pol, privately. None of the typical endearments seemed to fit. T'Pol is many things, but sweet really isn't one of them. Finally, Trip got into the middle of one of my stories, and blurted out, "Pepperpot". Somehow, it seemed perfect, and it's stuck. If it doesn't feel right to you, please feel free to substitute any endearment you fancy, or none at all.
Reviews, questions, diversity of opinion, and constructive criticisms accepted with gratitude.
"Do You?"
Her hand was shaking, and her fingers clutched at him. The silver chain of her IDIC dropped over his knee. In the womblike dimness, there was something so intimate in the touch, the silence filled only with their breath and Elizabeth's absence. Was it only days ago that she had told him that she didn't know how they had a baby, but that she was certain she could feel their child ?
"Oh, hell, T'Pol, this hurts so bad. How are we supposed to get through this?"
That's when the first tear slipped down her cheek, then another, and another. "We grieve together, Trip. We grieve as her family. We grieve, and we remember." It was just a faint little whisper, like she didn't have the energy for more. But her words were strong. Strength and fragility in one beautiful, confounding, complicated package.
Trip was very aware of her tears, her trembling fingers, the pressure of her warmer-than-human hand on his thigh...and the tiny weights of the chain and what was in his chest pocket, over his human heart.
The trace of citrus and sandalwood in the air, with a strong mineral lacing...oh, damn.
"Her family...yeah, I guess we're that, forever." He wanted to rub his mouth, but with his other arm in a sling, he had to settle for sticking his tongue in his cheek.
"The connection is indelible." She was unsure how he would feel about that; less so how he would feel when he learned that the bond between them was, as well. Would he find it comforting, or confining? He had suggested that they might try to conceive a child; did that come from his pain and loss, or was it a desire to share life with her, in some manner?
His cool fingers held to hers, intimate, strong, capable...fingers that had calibrated fine microcircuitry, maintained the most powerful engine his people had ever invented, stroked their daughter's cheek. Hands that had mastered neuropressure that healed, ouz'hestas that connected, and caresses that sent her spiraling into the ecstasy of sexual release...
"You OK?" His voice was soft and rough; he tipped his head and used the same tone he had five years ago, when he had first asked. Then, she hadn't understood his meaning. Time had changed her in many ways.
"No. Are you?"
"Not even close." Honesty to honesty. At last, nothing to hide, nothing to protect. Raw, vulnerable, naked, even in their clothes. T'Pol shivered, and Trip squeezed her hand; the pleasure rippled through her, building to a quiver. Dangerous, to have touched him so. More so by far, to persist in doing so.
Necessary.
"It's the little things, you know?" Trip sighed as she leaned into his solid maleness. "That I never got to really hold her, get to know her, memorize her face and her smell, and her weight while she slept on my chest. The way her tiny little fingers curled around mine - she was strong, stronger than any baby I've ever known, and I wondered if her fingertips were as sensitive as yours. It's the little things like that. Some little things got left out, little things that meant everything. Tiny little pieces of genetic coding. Tiny cries we never heard...tiny things between us - you and me, you and her, her and me...all of us. That tiny little person they took away from us..." His human tears splashed her hand, and she felt his mind shifting like the tides that were so much a part of him. "Candlelight flickering in your eyes, on your face - can I light the candles, T'Pol?"
"If you wish." He would know, when he did so. He would see the hypospray, and he would know - but now, she wanted him to know, to understand why. "Trip - I - I injected trellium -"
"I know." His head dipped down, and he kissed the top of hers lightly, in human fashion.
"You know?"
"I felt you. It's why I came so fast. I didn't want you to have to feel all this alone -" he nodded at her room, as though it encompassed all the sorrow of the loss. "But I don't have to stay."
"I need you to stay." The words burst out of her, and her hand tightened, hard enough that Trip bit his lip to keep from yelping in pain. If she was forgetting how much stronger she was, she didn't need to be reminded. He could have Phlox fix up his fingers later, if he needed to, but there was no way in hell he was going to deny T'Pol this particular little thing, if that's what she needed right now.
"I'm not going anywhere. Not if you need me. Because, I gotta tell you something, T'Pol. I need you, too. Maybe we can lean on each other, and keep from falling down." He tried not to wince, but didn't quite hide it.
"I'm hurting you." She drew a deep breath, and relaxed her hand.
"Do you want to meditate? I can set things up for you." Trip got up - not exactly gracefully, but he wasn't about to let go of her hand until she was ready. He wanted to take care of her, maybe even more, now that she'd told him about the trellium, trusted him.
Her fingers dropped away, then brushed the back of his hand with a swift ouz'hesta. "That's not necessary. I thought that - perhaps - if you wish it - "
Trip waited, but she was stuck. In her feelings, or in her ability to express them. So he went to light the candles. There was a time he would have pushed her, but he knew better, now. She wasn't human; this wasn't natural for her. He had to let her do things her own way, in her own time.
"I want to share her with you, Trip. I want to share the little things I have, that you don't."
"You want to meld with me." The starlight caught in her eyes; she was swathed in her robes, looking so Vulcan, so small, and so vulnerable, so close to breaking.
"I want to share our daughter with you - " her voice fell off so that he felt the next words more than heard them. "I want to feel her, as you do. I want to feel you in my mind - to become one with you..." Maybe she didn't mean to say that last bit, but Trip could feel her loud and clear, anyway...
She was as lost as he was, and she needed him.
He needed her.
Time to be sure she knew that. He wasn't going to wait one more night, waste one more day, wondering if she wanted him, afraid to tell her how he felt for fear that she'd deny feeling anything at all. Was that all that had kept him from laying it all on the line?
Another little thing. Little things can mean a lot...or maybe keep them from something a hell of a lot more meaningful.
He went to the box where she kept her ignition device, and there was the hypospray, right there on her desk, as though she hadn't decided yet whether she'd had enough. He lit each candle in the sequence he'd seen her use - little things meant a lot, and routine meant a lot to T'Pol.
She sat there on her bed, her tears dripping slowly and Vulcan-silent, watching him as tiny flames danced in her wide and hurting eyes. As the light threw itself around the room, Trip was overwhelmed with the sense that he was home.
Home. Here. In T'Pol's quarters, with her plum and blue bedding, her silks, her candles - a woman's touch, but not a human woman's. Her own.
His heart was heavy and light at the same time, and he knew.
It was time. Past time, really.
All the candles were lit. He returned her igniter to its box, and used his good hand to fumble his way into his pocket before he went back to his baby's mother, his friend, his sometimes lover, the woman to whom he was bound in a way no other human ever had been.
"Before we do that, pepperpot, there's something I need to say, something I should have said a long time ago. OK?"
"Go ahead." She could feel his emotions tangling up, too swift and complex for her to follow, even with the enhancing quality of the psychoactive compound. She knew only that this was important to him.
He came back the three steps to the bed, and wiped his hand across his mouth. He was holding a small object in the other hand. He simply watched her for a moment, then knelt clumsily, on a single knee, and she remembered that they'd knelt on the floor the first time they had mated - or, in his parlance, 'made love'.
"Listen, T'Pol. I've thought about this for a long time now - longer than I let myself realize - and yes, I know that's not logical. So, can you just let me get all the way through this before you say anything?"
She nodded. It would be pointless to tell him that she hadn't intended to speak.
His eyes glowed in the firelight. Their blue was vivid; when had his eyes become as much a part of her landscape as candlelight, her meditation table, her mother's IDIC, her computer screen?
"I'm guessing no one ever does this on Vulcan, but, on Earth, it's kind of the old-fashioned way of doing things. Like having a Valentine."
He had made her his Valentine, less than a year ago. And now, their daughter was dead.
"Elizabeth - Elizabeth makes me think. We're family, you, me, and her - like I said. But, even without her, T'Pol - we're family now, you and I. Maybe we have been for a long time, and it took that sweet baby girl to make me see it - I can be damned pig-headed, and more with you than with anyone else I've ever met."
She was tempted to tell him that he was losing focus, but held herself. He would come to the point, in his own way.
He took her hand, the small oval object pressing between their palms. "What's in this box was my sister's. I gave it to her as a present, when she got her degree. My mother gave it to me, after the Xindi attack. Somehow, Lizzie dropped it in their groundcar, and Mom never got the chance to give it back to her. I asked her if I could have it, to give it to you - if you want it, once you know what it means." His lips twitched into a hint of a smile - and T'Pol longed for his wide, easy human grin. Could she, perhaps, help him to find it, or was it lost forever, now?
"Go ahead, pepperpot. Open it."
His hand slipped beneath hers, to cradle it as she held a small brushed silver box on her palm. It had a tiny button at its front, and when T'Pol pressed it, it lifted to reveal a ring on a bed of silk. It was a delicate item clearly of human origin.
"It's called a claddagh ring. The heart is for love - it's just luck this one's jade, so it matches your heart. The hands are for friendship - and, well, for us, maybe more." He stroked a tentative ouz'hesta over her waiting fingertips, an T'Pol shuddered. "The crown is for loyalty. I told you once that you couldn't be loyal because you're Vulcan, but you are the most loyal person I've ever met. The band is a pattern called lover's knot. Guess I don't have to explain what that means." He shrugged, turning a shade pinker. "Look under the silk."
His breath, mind, and scent marked this as a moment of import. This little thing meant a great deal to him.
T'Pol's hand quivered as she followed his instructions.
There was a piece of paper fitted inside; of the type her human comrades called a 'sticky note'. Although inelegant, the appellation was descriptive. This sticky note was folded in half, and bore the Vulcan character of her name.
"I wrote it myself, and I'm not sure I got it right. Wasn't so easy, with just one hand. Go ahead, read it."
T'Pol put the little ring into Trip's hand as she detached the note. Why were her fingers shaking - and why were his? She took a moment to look into his eyes, but he dropped his focus to her fingers.
"I'm afraid my Vulcan's not very good, so, while you read that, let me say this in English, too. T'Pol - pepperpot - I love you. Maybe I've loved you since that first day, but I sure as hell do now. I want to be with you. Today, tomorrow- every day and night of the rest of my life. We lost our baby; no one can give her back to us. But we can be with each other; we can stop picking each other apart, and start just living with each other, being together, taking care of each other...maybe even making another baby together, someday – if you want. T'Pol -hell, humans used to use last names for this part, and I've never even thought to ask you if you have one, but never mind. You can read that, now, or try to anyway. T'Pol, would you do me the incredible honor of allowing me to be your husband?"
T'Pol looked at the sticky note she held. Upon it was written a phrase that had never been spoken in Vulcan.
"Will you marry me?"
She looked up at him, this human who had Awakened her. There was only one logical answer. "That would be - a most agreeable arrangement, Commander Tucker."
"So you will?"
"Yes, Trip. I will marry you."
"You sure you want to do this, pepperpot? I don't need you to."
Trip stood there, feeling ridiculously conspicuous in his Hawaiian shirt, talking to a doorbell. But she'd heard the tradition about not seeing each other before the wedding from Hoshi, or maybe his mother, and she'd decided to adhere to it with her typical precision. He wasn't going to get even a glimpse before she walked up the makeshift aisle to meet him while Silas played "Mating Ritual". That was her idea, too – no "Here Comes the Bride" for her.
He wasn't going to tell her how much he wanted that moment, how he was clinging to the idea of marrying her, using it as hull plating to shield him from that pain that wouldn't quit. Our baby girl…
"I grieve with thee." T'Pol's soft mindvoice whispered into his soul. Should have known she'd feel what he felt, especially now, after these last few days with Elizabeth. Their mutual parenthood seemed to have made this bond thing a hell of a lot stronger.
"I know," he whispered to the doorbell. He wasn't as good at this as she was, not by a long shot. "We don't have to get married, or not right now, anyway. So, if you're not sure -"
"I've been certain since the night we met, t'hy'la." This time she used the doorbell.
"That long?" But he didn't need her to answer; the memory was right there at the top of her mind, open and waiting for him.
"That long." Utter certainty in her quiet voice. But then that certainty seemed to melt away, and she asked, "Do you wish to marry me, Trip?"
He smiled at the hint of anxiety in her question. He'd known what happened between them right here in Fusion was something special. He hadn't been able to forget her. But that was nothing compared to the effect he'd had on her, how she'd wanted no one but him since that night, with a force she couldn't understand - or resist.
He just wish he'd known it during all those years thinking she didn't really need him, or anyone else.
"Trip?"
Her voice had that high sharp edge, like she might break.
"Sorry, pepperpot – got distracted." He needed to fix this, make her feel safe. "You see that ring on your finger, T'Pol?"
"Yes." A little bit calmer. Good. Keep going, Tucker.
"I've never given a ring to anyone but you and Lizzie. If you want to know if I'm sure, you just touch it, and you'll know." He felt her touching the ring; holding tight to the bond they shared. If Trip didn't need her so much, it'd be scary to know how much she needed him.
"Thought I'd find you lurking out here, son. Come on; it's time to make it legal."
"Already?" He clutched the small satin box in the pocket of his linen jacket. "It's only been an hour since we decided to do this."
"Would you prefer more waiting, t'hy'la?" That edge was back again, dammit.
"Hell, no, woman! I want to marry you, as soon as humanly – and Vulcanly – possible. You just be ready when you hear your cue, pepperpot."
"I'm ready now." She'd never sounded so sure of anything. As Trip followed his dad up to the corner where her table had been, that first night,T'Pol opened to him, and he could smell her, in his brain. Just because that should be impossible didn't mean that it was. Citrus, sandalwood – and minerals like the steam on the Fire Plains, rising up to drown out the rest. Desire, and more. Need. Like after she'd married Koss, or after her Mom died, and the numbness wore off. She wasn't just ready; she was an order of magnitude beyond it.
"I grieve with you," he whispered, knowing what that meant, for her. For them both.
"You all right, son?" Dad was frowning at him, a concerned hand on his shoulder.
"I'm fine, Dad. Just thinking it's gonna be a long night."
"Well, before there's a honeymoon, son, there's got to be a wedding." Trip let Dad urge him along, and just held on to her for dear life.