—Stolen Moments—
It was in the middle of night-watch that T'Pol moved silently through the halls of the Enterprise, a sinister looking package of red and black tucked neatly under the SubCommander's right arm. She held onto it quite securely, for it held a valuable payload.
She slipped from shadow to shadow, peeked around corners, utilized her superior hearing, utilized even the training in silent movement which she'd received years ago, training she'd put to use during her missions for the Vulcan Security Services. She now put that training to use for her own nefarious purposes. Normally a believer in rules and boundries, she rebelled against that now, for the Enterprise had become a dark and cruel place in the past week.
She finally reached her destination, to stand before a metal door. Moving quickly, she entered her personal code into the door's alpha-numerical security pad. As a senior officer, she could access any location on the Enterprise, and in any case, the security conditions under which this door was functioning now would allow anyone to open these doors, they simply would not allow the prisoner within to open them. With a hiss, the doors slid open and T'Pol quickly moved within, into a darkness broken only by a dim night light.
She laid her package down and turned to look at the prisoner. He was stretched out on his bunk, left arm covering his eyes, bare chested and wearing his favorite pair of jeans, and from the tempo of his breathing it was clear the human was asleep. T'Pol knelt by the bed and after a moment's pause to study the sleeping man, the Vulcan ran her hand gently over the man's chest. The effect of her touch upon the man was quickly felt. His breathing pattern changed, his muscles tensed and he then turned on his side to look at his visitor.
"T'Pol," said Trip uncertainly, "is that really you?"
"Yes, Commander."
Brushing his eyes to wipe away the last of his confusion, the human grasped the Vulcan's hand, inserted the tips of her fingers into his mouth, and began nibbling on them.
Despite herself, T'Pol almost giggled aloud, but in the end managed to hang on the her sense of poise and propriety by the slimmest of margins.
"Stop it, Commander," said T'Pol. "Stop it I say. You are acting like a lunatic!"
"Never, you sweet Vulcan fool!" said Trip ."What are you doing here? Do you know what the captain will do to you, if he finds out you've been here?"
"I do not care," said T'Pol. "His treatment of you is unjust."
"No, I deserved it, T'Pol."
Only a month after his run-in with the Happa, Misri the dancer and an unlucky phaser shot that winged him, Trip had taken it upon himself to soup up the shuttle pod's performance, without telling the captain. He was going to, of course, it's just that sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness, than permission, and he didn't think the captain would authorize the performance specs he had in mind. He would approve of it all, Trip was certain, once Archer took it for a ride.
Unfortunately for everyone, the captain decided to make an external inspection of the hull one restless night, instead of counting sheep, and slipped into the pilot's seat before Trip could make it to the Shuttle Bay in order to offer to come along, and coincidentally, pilot the shuttle. Not expecting the surprising burst of power from the engines, the captain promptly slammed the nose of the shuttle pod into one of the support pylons and then hastily over-corrected, only to slam the back of the shuttle pod against the rear wall of the Bay. He'd been furious, and as a result, Commander Tucker was confined to quarters until further notice, which should have been punishment enough, but Archer added a dietary restriction guaranteed to break the Commander's spirit.
"So you admit it!" said T'Pol. "You called me a fool, but you are the fool. Because of this, I haven't seen you for a week now. It may be illogical, but it feels like torture, not seeing you at all."
"I admit it, I'm a fool," said Trip, rising to a seated position on his bunk and drawing T'Pol closer to him. After covering the Vulcan's face with kisses, he said, "It's been torture for me as well, T'Pol."
This thing between them, no, this relationship that was developing had taken an odd trajectory. From an icy beginning, to a slow thaw, then a 0 – 60 scenario in 2 seconds with T'Pol showing jealousy of Ke'Relle, then to sex, but not really sex, for they were just using an Orion neural whip to simulate sex, to an uncertain retreat to the first stages of dating it seemed, for they were both suffering a severe case of puppy love, which involved lots of sweet kisses and hand-holding, but no actual sex. Not that either of them cared. Trip knew he was in love. For her part, T'Pol denied it vehemently to herself: she was just conducting an experiment of human dating habits. Perhaps she would write a paper on it, one day soon, for the edification of the Vulcan Science Academy…
"What's in the package?" said Trip, taking note of the box on his desk.
"I had a brilliant idea, Commander. Your first love is pecan pie," said T'Pol, as Trip nodded agreeably, "but you have developed quite an obsession with brownies lately, so I asked Chef to make something special to tide you over until you're released from this dungeon."
"The Captain has forbidden me sweets as part of my punishment," said Trip. "You told Chef it's for me?"
"No, of course not. I told him it was for me," said T'Pol, "but the man is no fool. He said to tell him if you liked it, he'd make it again sometime, then swore to keep the whole thing a secret."
"What is it?!"
"It is basically a rectangular pecan pie, with a top and bottom crust, buried inside a rich chocolate fudge brownie. It is really more like a thin cake, I guess."
"You've gone mad, T'Pol!" said Trip, hands shaking as he tried to unwind the red ribbon wrapped around the black box. "You're insane."
"If so, Commander Tucker, the fault is yours," said T'Pol, pleased that her present was so clearly desired. "I was a perfectly functioning Vulcan SubCommander, held in some measure of respect by my peers, until you got your hands on me. Now look at me!"
"Archer to T'Pol."
"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol.
"Where are you?"
This calls for a delicate answer, thought T'Pol. I can not lie to the captain.
"On the Enterprise, of course, Captain."
"Mmm, hmm. Listen, I need you on the Bridge, now. We've got an emergency beacon to look into. A Risan passenger liner is on flames and we're the closest ship to render aid."
"I will be right up, Captain."
"Yeah. Before you leave the room you're in, look deeply into Trip's baby blue eyes and tell him that he is provisionally forgiven. I need the best I've got on top of this situation. Snap to it, Commander Tucker."
"Yes, sir," said Trip, as he and T'Pol made eye contact, as instructed.
Trip just smiled and shook his head. He should have known they'd never get away with this. Archer was too sharp. T'Pol, for her part, just looked surprised. She was a Vulcan, taught to hide emotions behind walls of discipline, a special operations officer well versed in subterfuge, yet she was, as Trip would say, busted!
"On my way, Captain," said T'Pol, and after a last feverish kiss and an entirely inappropriate groping of her buttocks by the shameless engineer, the two separated, T'Pol moving swiftly for the Bridge, Trip for Engineering.
Archer snorted to himself as T'Pol entered the Bridge, looking as cool, poised and collected as ever. One would never guess that she'd been violating captain's orders.
This is a ship, he thought while giving T'Pol a wry glance, and everyone knows there are no secrets on a ship. Well, everyone but a certain plucky Vulcan who chooses to disobey her captain's orders. Now, how should I punish her?