At Least
By: Gammaent
Disclaimer: Star Trek and everything affiliated with belongs to Paramount
At least the screams have stopped. Only on Risa could a hospital be so beautiful, so peaceful. Why am I hesitant to go in the room? Because I know what lies in there. What lies of the brother I never had. I can even see the beach from here lined with flowers of colors I didn't even know existed. He liked the beach, he really did. No wonder why it was his favorite picture. I can't believe she let him send it. But that's Trip- won the heart of a Vulcan.
My hand. I'll just keep it on the keypad. The color of my hand kinda matches the maroon of the wall. At least the blood marks from where I bit my hand last night to keep from crying do. I couldn't help it, I'd never heard anything like that, never anything so painful. So pure. And nothing like that from Trip. I can feel another tear go down my cheek. I can feel the burn in my throat, the ache in my chest. It's refreshing against the exhaustion. It allows me to catch my thoughts. Then I realize- I have heard that scream before. That's when I knew.
Sluggo. That's how I met Trip. A small laugh bubbles out of me along with anguished cries that I'm no good at holding in. I've ended up on the floor, back to the wall, head resting on my knees. My eyes are still on that beach. It's gorgeous. And blue. Like his eyes. Restless. Like his spirit. Pure. Like his soul.
I remember the first time I met him. The first thing I thought when I met him was that he was dead gorgeous. And I knew he was the typical guy. Men. Who needs them anyhow? That's why we have chocolate.
Except he wasn't. He was gentle, warm, inviting. When I was freaked for no reason of the vibrations from the warp engines, he gave me a tour of engineering. I thought he was on an ego trip showing off his big pulsing engine. But there was something about him, and my ego-maniac perception didn't seem to fit, so I asked him. I'm no idiot. He told me, thought that I wouldn't be so scared of em' if I understood them. He said that's what his dad says. It was then I should have realized I had found the brother I never had. Protective and caring.
But I also saw something about him that no one else saw. How he looked at T'Pol. O god, could you say tension? All you had to do was throw a match at the two and you could power Trip's engines with the reaction you'd get. Screw antimatter. They were fiery, angry, stubborn. I'm surprised it took them as long as it did to end up together. They were electric.
He provoked, she instigated. He was emotional, she was logical. He offered his hand, she gave him the infamous eyebrow. They would stare each other down across the bridge. Yell at each other during senior staff meetings. Like I said, I'm surprised it took them so long to realize it. They were opposites, perfect for each other. It was animalistic and intellectual, emotional and logical all at the same time. They made a damn good team and I knew they would make a cute couple.
But Trip told me. They were just friends. And it was the truth. It began with the message he had me decode. I didn't get to be an expert in languages by reading books. I observe. I listen. I watch. After that instant the stares became glances, the yelling became debate, the provocation became bantering. The silent thank-you's, the silent questions. They spoke a language of their own.
The ears. He was obsessed with them. Couldn't keep his hand off um'. Well, until later that is. Watching them on that shuttle was worth the mission in itself. The way he pointed to his ear, the way she knew what he meant. The way he stroked his hair, the way she touched hers. And all he had said was "T'Pol." Who didn't see it? It was there, out in the open. Two people destined for each other, made for each other. Born light-years apart but meant to be together for an eternity.
Movie-night. O god, I'm surprised I didn't get caught. Did I even watch half the movies? Heck, I watched the two of them though. Interesting how she always gave him such a hard time about going but always sat next to him. Even shared the popcorn. With her hands. In the Expanse one night Hess had chosen 'Titanic' for movie night. At the end T'Pol's eyes never left Trip's. That was it, their friendship had become so much more.
Was it the neuropressure? Was it Lizzie's death? I don't know. When did it happen? I remember walking to sickbay the night after we had run into the Seleya. Just as the doors slid away I heard T'Pol screaming Trip's name. Not Commander, not Mr. Tucker. Trip. She was screaming it. I didn't take it to mean much, I didn't want to. They had said she wasn't feeling well. O, so maybe I can be an idiot. But my subconscious knew from that moment their friendship was so much more. So deep. Permanent. Life-long. Love. Took the rest of the crew Lorian to figure it out. For me it was that scream.
Sim. It was Sim. Made Miss Vulcan realize how fragile time was, how illogical denying emotion was. I don't know. I can only guess and I can guess damn well. All I knew was everything changed. They would touch each other oh-so lightly, eat pecan pie together in the mess, even play games. T'Pol playing Go with Trip. Now that was a sight. I was glad, I was ecstatic. It had taken them three years to see what I saw right from the beginning. They had begun their future together. The thought still brings a small bubble of warmth in my heart.
Then we returned home. Trip went to Vulcan. He came back. I found him. Crying. Alone. In the cargo bay. He told me everything and I was speechless. I sat down and hugged him. Kinda like how I'm sitting now. But Trip was there. He was my brother. I was his sister. Especially after Lizzie died. I guess he saw something of her in me. Innocence he said, purity, and of course a mischievous streak. I knew I was the only one on the ship who knew. I kept his secret. It was Trip. I would do anything for him. But why, why couldn't what I saw come true?
There was T'Pol's divorce. Then Trip left. He risked his neck to save T'Pol. O wait, Enterprise, right he was saving Enterprise. She kissed him. He came back. The virus. O god when Trip and I had that virus. We were like two sick siblings swapping stories. And all he could talk about was T'Pol. He wasn't just in love. He had given his life to her. It didn't take a linguist to translate what he was saying.
Paxton the bastard. Killed their daughter. Two months later Trip and T'Pol announced they were getting married. They both needed each other, loved each other. That's when we got the news on Enterprise. Trip's parents had been murdered, slaughtered. An explosive at their home. No one had seen it, no one knew who was guilty. It was simple, it was Terra Prime. Trip wasn't a human to them, he was a traitor. God how I wanted to kill the people who were doing this to him. Didn't they see the glances, the energy between the two? It was so clear. Didn't they hear T'Pol scream Trip's name that night in sickbay? They lived off each other. They loved each other. It was so clear.
T'Pol kept Trip together. They made it through. Got married. Though Trip was never the same. His sister, daughter, and parents in two years. But at least he had T'Pol.
6 months. I caught Trip nuzzling T'Pol in the turbolift. Starfleet officers didn't do that during duty. Right. I smiled that entire day. They made each other happy. It was all that mattered. No more screams of need, no more angst of separation. They were together, for now and forever.
8 months. They took their over-due honeymoon on Risa. The third day Trip sent a picture of him, leaning on his elbows in the sand with T'Pol's head resting in his lap and her eyes gazing up at his. How the hell had he managed to send that picture? I'm surprised T'Pol hadn't used her neck pinch on him, husband or not.
It was the seventh day. The last day. They were coming home. Four hours before their arrival, we got a message. I told the Captain it was from the Tuckers. The Tuckers. He laughed. Said he hoped Trip was going to remember to put on some clothes before he got back to Enterprise this time. Malcolm sniggered just as I heard the message. I don't know what I did. Dropped my earpiece probably-I know I stood and went away from my station. It couldn't be true. I felt sick.
Five minutes later I was on the surface at the attack site with the Captain and Malcolm. Didn't think twice about the transporter. It seemed Terra Prime had hired operatives to take care of Trip. Except T'Pol was too fast and pushed Trip to safety right before the bomb went off. I still remember the sight. Trip was cradling T'Pol's green blood covered body. His eyes were closed, his forehead touching hers. He was cut, bruised and half his face was skinned and covered in red blood. Red. She was wearing that favorite red dress of his. It was silky yet slightly transparent. She did look gorgeous. But now she was dead. And all I heard was Trip's plea, "T'Pol, I can't hear you. Don't do this to me. T'Pol, I love you, don't do this to me."
That was two days ago. Recovering in the hospital, Trip started screaming, yelling for T'Pol. He was angry, sad, confused. I thought he was going insane. He thought he was going insane. The Vulcan ambassador to Risa was at the hospital. I heard him talking to his attaché in Vulcan. About the bond. Why a human couldn't bond with a Vulcan. The premature end of the bond would drive either mate insane. Too much emotion, too much love.
I visited him last night. Blood curdling screams. So much like T'Pol's. Now I remember. I look at the beach. It's only been a few minutes since I began remembering. The screams I heard yesterday- I had heard them before. They were like T'Pol's of two years ago. When I had realized they were in love. Except it had been T'Pol's name I heard over and over again last night instead of Trip's. I just sat beside Trip's bed. Tried to comfort him. But it would never be the same for him. I knew then my brother was gone. Only the screaming shell remained. Same eyes, same blonde hair, same boyish features. But he was gone.
I will my legs to get up. I'll still see the man who loves me like a sister. Still try to comfort him. Because he did so much for me. I push the button to open the door. I'm a linguist, I don't need words to read a story. As I take in the scene around me, I can see what perhaps minutes-perhaps a few hours ago happened here. As my eyes rest upon the wires and chips scattered over the floor, I see Trip struggling with the computers, disabling them with a single-minded purpose. Next I catch the dangling IV that should be giving him blood dripping out on the floor and in my mind I know what happened. How his trained hand tugged at the needles in the arm, not feeling an ounce of pain as a pained whisper "Wait for me T'Pol" escaped his lips along with his dying breath, eyes fixed up on the ceiling as if able to see the sky.
Thoughts of the dead man now lying on the bed race through my mind. How he protected me, cared for me, loved me. I don't even want to think about the bastards who made him do this. Made him take his own life. As I walk over to his side, his eyes closed and wearing an easy smile only death could now give him, I can't help but cry. Cry at what he should have had. What I will never again have. But there's a shameful relief as the little voice in my head says again 'at least the screams have stopped.'