"THE BRIAR PATCH"
by Dinah
Disclaimer: I do not own the Enterprise characters. I do, however, claim ownership of the characters that are the products of my imagination. I have not benefited monetarily from writing this.
Rating: T
Genre: Drama/Adventure/Mystery/Romance
Author's note: This story is a sequel to "The Thorn and the Rose." I want to thank Blacknblue and CX for giving this chapter the once over and offering some suggestions. Please keep in mind that I write slowly. It will be awhile between new chapters. Thank you so much for the reviews!
CHAPTER 2: TRIP
"You will be late if you don't hurry," T'Pol called from the next room.
Commander Charles Tucker III looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. The face that stared back at him was half-shaven and clearly very tense. That wasn't good.
Today, he was scheduled to act as Starfleet's observer on the Vulcan battle cruiser, Tar'hana. Regardless of how uptight he felt, it was absolutely essential that he appear composed and professional. As he'd heard time and time again, everyone was counting on him: Starfleet, United Earth, the Vulcan government, the Coalition. No pressure…in a pig's eye.
Sighing, he ran his hand over the unshaven half of his face. He knew he had to relax, but it was hard not to worry. He was confident of his abilities, but…well… He just better not screw up. Turning his head slightly, he lifted his razor to finish shaving.
"Of course," Trip fretted, "I wouldn't be in this position if Kiran wasn't such a bastard."
When the admiral – because of his deep distrust of humans – had insisted on placing Captain V'Lin on Enterprise as an observer, Starfleet naturally asked for equal consideration. Admiral Gardner had suggested Captain Duvall. True to form, Kiran had vetoed that suggestion. Then, much to everyone's surprise, he'd announced that Commander Tucker was his choice. Trip shook his head. He still couldn't fathom why Kiran had picked him. It made no sense, and it certainly wasn't logical. The Vulcan could scarcely stomach being in the same room with him.
"You know that Captain Archer wants to see you before you leave for the Tar'hana," Tpol called. This time there was a warning tone in her voice.
For a split second Trip felt rather childish. He could have been ready twenty minutes ago, but he'd dragged his feet. This was an important day – a day for which he'd been preparing for over a month – and he wanted his wife here with him, not at her station on the bridge. Through their bond, he knew that T'Pol was aware of his procrastination and, in this instance, was willing to indulge him.
"Give me another minute," he called. "I'll be right with ya."
When he felt the inner tension begin to build again, he decided that he needed to think of something else – something pleasurable – to take his mind off his problems. Of course, the choice of subject matter was easy. Pleasure had become synonymous with T'Pol.
Having finished shaving, Trip laid his razor down and, placing his right hand over the IDIC medallion that lay concealed beneath his blue Starfleet-issue undershirt, allowed his mind to drift back to the day when he and T'Pol had finally left their separate rooms at the United Earth Embassy on Vulcan and returned to Enterprise. There had been no time for a palm tree in cargo bay three, but T'Pol had kept her promise to him, giving him a honeymoon he'd remember vividly till the day he died.
Trip closed his eyes and savored the memory of the first night they'd spent together as husband and wife. T'Pol came to him naked, with the body of a goddess and a look of pure passion in her eyes. As he ran his hands slowly along her body, her skin was satin beneath his fingertips. Moaning softly, she claimed his mouth with an urgency that surprised them both. Quickly pulling her close, he reveled in the feel of her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. When he began to nibble slowly along her neck, savoring the marvelous flavor of her, she moved her hand between their bodies and began to stroke…
Damn! When he felt the blood begin to rush south, he realized that daydreaming was a bad idea.
Shifting restlessly, Trip quickly splashed cold water on his face. He briefly toyed with the idea of taking a cold shower, but there wasn't time. Obviously, any further thoughts of marital bliss would have to wait until he'd finished his stint on the Tar'hana. After toweling off, he ran a comb through his hair and put on his black uniform shirt, taking time to fasten only the bottom three buttons.
Exiting the bathroom, he had to pull up short to keep from plowing into T'Pol, who stood right outside the door. Snatching his uniform from her outstretched hands, he quickly put it on. When he'd finished putting on his shoes and socks, he stood before his wife, waiting for her approval.
After looking him over from head to toe, T'Pol allowed her eyes to linger on his for a moment. There was no pep talk or glib reassurances that would waste their precious moments together. She simply reached up and began to button the remaining buttons on his shirt.
Over the past several weeks, this had become something of a daily ritual between the two of them. Trip knew that T'Pol wasn't comfortable uttering the words, "I love you." But every day, with this simple gesture and countless others, she made sure he knew that she was his.
After fastening the top button, she ran her hands slowly down his chest. "You look very handsome."
Grinning, Trip drew his head back slightly, trying to catch her eye. "You think I'm handsome?"
"I believe that is the term a human woman uses when she wants to boost her mate's self-esteem."
Chuckling, Trip leaned forward and gave her a gentle peck on the nose. "Consider mine boosted."
"Bridge to Commander Tucker."
Trip took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly. "Tucker here."
"The Tar'hana will be docking in five minutes, Commander."
"Thanks, Hoshi. Tell the captain I'm on my way. Tucker out."
T'Pol lightly brushed her hand over the front of his uniform. "Do you have everything you'll need?"
"I've got you, haven't I?"
Trip could tell that a part of her was pleased by his response, but her next words made it clear that she thought it was time for him to focus on the task at hand.
"In less than twenty minutes you will be on the Tar'hana. You know that Vulcans do not have a sense of humor. You must not…"
Throwing caution to the wind, Trip pulled her close and kissed her. When their lips parted, he murmured, "I'll do my best to make you proud."
"I know you will." When a damp lock of hair fell across his forehead, she lovingly brushed it back into place. "We must go."
Placing his left hand on the small of her back, Trip guided her to the door and then stood aside, allowing her to exit his quarters first.
As they walked down the corridor side by side, Trip tried to push aside the doubts that once again began to intrude on his thoughts, but he failed miserably. Maybe the captain was right. Maybe this was a bad idea. Given his recent problems, was he really ready to represent Starfleet? Was there anything else he could have done to prepare?
No. He gave his head a subtle shake. If he was found wanting, it wasn't for lack of effort on his part. Over the past five weeks, he'd spent every spare minute trying to learn all he could about Vulcan culture and traditions. He'd learned enough Vulcan words and phrases from T'Pol to see him through – God forbid – a total melt down of the universal translator. He'd frequently sought out Soval and V'Lar for advice on the niceties of diplomacy and protocol. One day, he'd even cornered Sirek, captain of the Sas-a-shar, and managed to convince the Vulcan that it was logical to provide him with some basic information on combat tactics.
Trip had tried to work his regular shift in engineering and supervise his staff, but there were so many other demands on his time that that was often impossible. In addition to regular staff meetings on Enterprise and his weekly counseling sessions with Phlox, he was expected to attend daily planning sessions for the joint maneuvers and, because of the rapidly deteriorating political situation, there were all-too-frequent briefings with Ambassador Belliveau and Admiral Gardner.
The intransigent stance of the High Council had not only alienated the Andorians, but was also slowing poisoning relations between Earth and Vulcan. Starfleet had already postponed the start of the fleet maneuvers once because of Kiran's bullying tactics. In fact, things had deteriorated to the point where it would take very little for relations between the two species to break down completely.
The Coalition wasn't faring much better. Despite the best efforts of Starfleet Security and the Vulcan Ministry of Security, word of the Andorians' departure and their clandestine meeting with agents of the Romulan Star Empire had mysteriously leaked out, threatening to further destabilize the entire sector. The Tellarites, now firmly in the Coalition camp, were threatening to go to war with Andoria unless the Andorians cancelled their negotiations with the Romulans. This created a sticky diplomatic situation for both Earth and Vulcan because, at the moment, neither species could afford to allow the abrasive Tellarites to drag them into a shooting war. The Rigelians, on the other hand, were looking for any excuse to leave the Coalition, and the Coridans were on the verge of an all-out civil war as the Vulcan-backed government tried to beat off increasingly frequent raids by the Andorian-backed rebel forces.
It was hardly surprising that several other species that had shown a passing interest in the Coalition had now backed off, choosing instead to carefully monitor the volatile situation from afar.
There was so much at stake here. Others could suffer because of his actions. What if he said or did the wrong thing? What if he ruined…
T'Pol gave Trip's arm a gentle squeeze, snapping him back to reality. "You know that it's unwise to dwell on the negative. You are well prepared. There is no reason for you to be concerned."
Trip looked over at T'Pol. "Thanks. I guess I just need the occasional reminder."
"Perhaps when you return from the Tar'hana, you should contact Torok. It has been several weeks since you've spoken with him."
Trip nodded. "Good idea."
At this point in his life, Trip knew that when he needed to talk, it had to be to someone who wasn't going to sugarcoat things. And he knew that he could rely on Torok to speak his mind. Trip still found it a little hard to believe that he was being counseled by a Vulcan – and a high priest at that – but it was working. Sometimes it just paid to go with the flow.
As they turned the corner and proceeded down the corridor, Trip saw Archer pacing in front of the docking port. Malcolm and Hoshi were standing off to the side, warily watching the captain.
Taking a deep breath, Trip thought, Okay. Here we go.
Just before they reached Archer, T'Pol lightly touched Trip's arm. When he came to a halt, she smoothly positioned herself so that she was standing in front of him. "The captain wishes to say a few words to you before you leave, Commander. I look forward to hearing your report when you return from the Tar'hana."
With her back to Archer and the others, she extended the first two fingers of her right hand. Without breaking eye contact, Trip moved his hand until his two fingers unerringly met hers. For a split second they were alone, the only two beings in a vast universe. Each breath, each beat of their hearts came in perfect unison. When their fingers parted, Trip realized that what had seemed like a journey into eternity had, in fact, lasted mere seconds.
"I appreciate the escort." Trip looked over T'Pol's shoulder and saw that Archer was growing impatient. "I hope everything goes smoothly on this end."
"Good luck, Commander." T'Pol clasped her hands firmly behind her back and walked over to stand next to Malcolm and Hoshi.
Trip's eyes followed T'Pol as she walked away. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He'd just said a passionate good-bye to his wife right in front of three very perceptive people and nobody was the wiser.
In so many ways, T'Pol was vastly superior to a human wife.
Trip quickly wiped the smile off his face when he heard Archer clear his throat. The no-nonsense look on Jon's face made it clear that he was here as the captain of Enterprise, not as a friend.
Pulling his shoulders back, Trip straightened his stance. "Commander Tucker reporting for duty, sir."
He could see the questioning look in Archer's eyes, the same look that he'd seen every day for over a month: Are you really all right or are you going to make a total mess of things?
Each morning, Trip had a standing date to meet Archer for breakfast in the captain's mess. At first, Jon had tried to keep things light – time for two friends to reconnect – but somehow the meal always ended in a game of twenty questions. How are you feeling? Have you been sleeping? Did you see Phlox yesterday? What did he say? You met with Soval. Did everything go well? Each day the questions were different, yet somehow they were always the same.
After a while, the camaraderie had disappeared and only the questions remained. As much as Trip wanted to put a positive spin on things, there was no denying the obvious: the captain still didn't trust him.
But then, Jonathan Archer really hadn't been the same since the dedication of the monument at the United Earth Embassy. As the political tensions increased, Trip slowly began to realize that, inexplicably, Jon saw each diplomatic setback as a personal failure. He was once again turning into the driven, haunted loner that Trip had last seen in the Expanse – a man who had carefully concealed his fear behind a mask of anger and impatience.
"Are you ready?" Archer asked, the tension clearly audible in his voice.
"Yes, sir."
"I don't need to tell you that this has to go off without a hitch if we're going to shore up relations with the Vulcans and hold the Coalition together."
"No, sir."
"There is no margin for error."
"No, sir."
After taking a deep breath, the captain gave a curt nod of the head. It was painfully obvious that he was trying to relax.
"Do you have any questions about Phase 1 of the maneuvers?" Archer asked.
Trip had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. In one capacity or another, he'd been involved in the planning process for these maneuvers almost every day for the past month. He knew what he was supposed to do: be polite, answer questions, relay information when necessary, and above all, don't make waves.
"No questions, sir."
"Give me a quick run down." Hands clenched in a fist, Archer scrubbed the knuckles of his right hand with his left thumb. "One final check."
"Two squadrons – one led by the Tar'hana, the other led by Enterprise – will attempt to locate and neutralize an enemy base. For the purpose of this exercise, the enemy ships providing support for the base will be led by Columbia. The goals of the exercise are simple: work as unified teams and neutralize the enemy. My role is to be helpful, when called upon; otherwise, I'm supposed to keep my head down and my mouth shut."
Archer couldn't prevent a smile from playing at his lips. "Do you think you can manage that, Commander?"
Trip allowed himself to relax slightly. "After five years of bein' put in my place by T'Pol, I know how to keep quiet around Vulcans."
Slowly, Trip could see the captain begin to thaw a little. Tense fingers relaxed and the clenched fist disappeared.
"Before Admiral Kiran took control," Archer began haltingly, "I was a guest aboard the Yarhala."
"I believe I remember you sayin' something about that once."
"In those days Vulcan ships weren't off limits to humans." Trip nodded in an attempt to show interest and keep the captain talking. "Of course, I was still viewed as an outsider, but…well…I have to admit that, on the whole, they did treat me with respect. It was an experience I still value. I…I hope you come away from this with those same kinds of memories."
Archer fondly clapped Trip on the shoulder and, for an instant, the pressures of the moment disappeared. They were just two friends again, comfortable in each other's company.
"Trip, I know how hard you've worked to get ready for this. I appreciate it."
"Thanks, Cap'n. I promise I won't let you down."
Before Archer could answer, he was interrupted by a call from the bridge, informing him that the Tar'hana had just docked. As soon as Archer heard the message, he drew his hand back, all thoughts of friendship forgotten.
Sighing inwardly, Trip walked over to the docking hatch and opened it. The first man through was Captain V'Lin.
Archer immediately stepped forward to greet the stocky Vulcan. In many ways V'Lin appeared to be the antithesis of his mentor, Kiran. Where the admiral was a tall man with the well-muscled physique of a wrestler, the unprepossessing V'Lin was barely of medium height with a soft, round body that reminded Trip of his friend Kov. V'Lin had spent enough time around the admiral so that he had his strut and his posturing down perfectly, but there was a look of indecisiveness in his features – a need to please – that set him apart from Kiran.
After a few quick words of welcome, Archer introduced his senior officers. While V'Lin was reasonably courteous, he made no secret of the fact that he had absolutely no interest in meeting Starfleet personnel. Bristling slightly, Archer then suggested a tour of the ship. When V'Lin immediately shot down that idea and asked to go straight to the bridge, he only took an already tense situation and made it worse.
Trip was relieved when Major Luvan stuck his head through the hatch and informed him that it was time to go. The Tar'hana still had a two-hour journey before she rendezvoused with the other ships in her squadron. After a glance in T'Pol's direction, Trip said his good-byes and followed Luvan through the hatch.
As soon as he set foot on the Tar'hana, Trip quickly realized that he'd only traded one set or problems for another. Standing in front of him was a roadblock in the form of a rock-solid, six-foot-tall Vulcan male.
"I am Subcommander Vasic." The voice was deep and impeccably controlled, but there was a slightly superior overtone that set Trip's teeth on edge.
Giving the man a quick once-over, Trip wondered if Vulcans practiced nepotism. This officer, in build and facial features, bore a striking resemblance to Admiral Kiran. It would be just his luck that the admiral had a large extended family, each one more mean-spirited than the next.
Trip raised his right hand in the Vulcan salute. "Pleased to meet you. My name's Commander Charles Tucker III. I appreciate the…"
Trip never got to finish his sentence. The subcommander brusquely said, "Follow me," and, turning on his heel, started down the corridor.
So much for a warm welcome, Trip thought. He caught sight of his hand still raised in greeting and slowly lowered it.
Luvan walked up beside him and, motioning with one hand, said, "This way, Commander."
Following along in Luvan's wake, Trip took a few moments to look around. Once again he was impressed by the Vulcans' appreciation for beauty. The Tar'hana's corridors were a pleasing departure from the stark, utilitarian interior of Enterprise. The bulkheads, although made from a metal similar in appearance to those on Enterprise, were decorated with a simplified version of the Vulcan star charts. Planets, moons and stars were done in muted shades of blue, gold and mauve. Trip had no trouble identifying the planetary configurations depicted in this passageway as being from the Tellar sector. Everything was spare and functional, but there was a surprising warmth – a feeling of being at one with the universe – that his beloved ship somehow lacked.
As they entered the turbolift at the end of the corridor, Trip felt the ship go to warp.
"Could you tell me where we're going or is that classified information?" Trip asked.
Subcommander Vasic stiffed slightly. "We have a two hour journey to our rendezvous point. Until that time, your presence is not required on the bridge."
"Just as long as we aren't heading for the brig."
Trip began mentally kicking himself as soon as the last word passed his lips. One look at Vasic's face and Luvan's raised eyebrow and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. T'Pol had warned him: Vulcans don't have a sense of humor.
Nervously, he began to chew on his lower lip, a not-so-subtle reminder to keep his big mouth shut. He'd only been on the Tar'hana for a few minutes and his mouth was already getting him into trouble. Settle down, he chided himself silently. You've handled tougher assignments than this.
When the turbolift doors opened, Luvan pointed down the corridor to the third doorway on the left. As they drew near, the double doors slid open, revealing what appeared to be an empty conference room.
Trip, following the lead of the two Vulcans, came to a halt outside the room.
"Step inside, Commander Tucker," Vasic said coolly.
Well, if I have to be stuck somewhere for a couple of hours, Trip thought, glancing at the room's rather Spartan decor, I guess things could be worse.
Stepping confidently over the threshold, Trip figured that his Vulcan escorts would be following close behind – two bodyguards now instead of one. When he noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to look and immediately wished he hadn't. The sour-looking face staring back at him belonged to Admiral Kiran.
Suddenly feeling the need for a little moral support, Trip whipped his head around in time to see the doors close behind him. The glimpse he caught of the expression on Vasic's face before the doors slid shut didn't fill him with optimism.
Swallowing hard, Trip knew instantly that he had to remove any trace of emotion from his features. It would be a mistake to allow the Vulcan to see even the slightest hint of the inner turmoil he felt. The moment Kiran detected any fear or uncertainty, he'd be finished – a wounded animal ready to be systematically culled from the herd.
"Commander Tucker." There was an icy tone in Kiran's voice.
Turning towards the admiral, Trip clasped his hands tightly behind his back. "It's good to see you again, sir."
Kiran, resplendent in his uniform as commander of the Vulcan fleet, snorted softly and walked over to the head of the large brushed metal table at the center of the room. Pointing to a chair close to Tucker, he said, "Sit down."
Sighing inwardly, Trip acquiesced. He knew this wasn't the time to challenge the admiral's authority. When he was seated, he looked up at Kiran's stern face and couldn't help feeling like the class troublemaker who'd just been sent to the principal's office.
Kiran's eyes burned into Trip's and for a time neither man spoke. Finally the admiral broke the silence.
"I do not like you, human."
Trip stiffened. Any feelings of inferiority quickly disappeared as he worked to control his anger. The son of a bitch just loved to rub it in.
"I don't care much for you either, Admiral," he finally replied, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, "but we have to work together, so I guess we might as well just make the best of it."
After a moment, Kiran nodded his head. "You wonder why I selected you."
"Yeah. You made your feelings about me pretty clear."
Kiran walked slowly toward the viewport which ran along the back wall of the room. For a moment he stood quietly staring out at the stars streaming past. When he spoke his voice was pitched so low that Trip had to strain to hear what he said.
"I will not be indebted to any man."
Momentarily stunned, Trip wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Kiran felt indebted to him? And called him a man? Not a lower lifeform or a barbarian, but a man. That was something he never thought he'd hear from the admiral. Uttering those words must have stretched Kiran's self-control to the limit. No wonder he kept his back turned.
"I misjudged V'Las," the admiral continued in a normal tone of voice. "I made the mistake of believing that he was a man of honor." He waved a hand dismissively. "He was, in fact, nothing more than a vile traitor. I should have seen through him."
"He was able to dupe a lot of people. That's what made him so dangerous."
"He took me for a fool, but it is he who has been reduced to ashes."
Trip saw the rigid set of Kiran's back and shoulders and wondered if the admiral was contemplating what might have happened if he'd continued to support V'Las. Would the coup d'etat have had any chance of succeeding? Or would the admiral now be just as dead as his former colleague?
Head down, Trip brushed his hand lightly over the tabletop. "My Mama always says that things turn out for the best."
"Perhaps. But I do not like to leave things to chance. It is the strong and the resolute that will shape the future."
Trip took a deep breath. He wasn't sure how his next statement would be received. "That's plain to see from the work you've done to reorganize your fleet. It's been nothing short of amazing."
Kiran spun around to face Trip. "Do not patronize me, human."
"That wasn't my intention." Trip leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him on the table. He knew how critical it was for the Vulcan to accept that he was sincere in his praise. "I'm only tellin' the truth. In a little over a month you've managed to get almost thirty percent of your mothballed ships back into service…and with full crew complements. Your timetable for refits has been moved forward. You've started to update your plans for planetary defense. Believe me, Admiral, Starfleet is well aware of the tremendous job you and your people are doing."
Kiran puffed out his chest. "We must be prepared to defend ourselves when the Andorians attack."
"…or the Romulans," Trip countered warily.
"Believe what you want. When Vulcan is threatened, we will be ready."
Trip hesitated, unsure whether to proceed. Finally he decided that this might be his only chance to speak his mind.
"We can help…if you'd give us the chance."
"That day will never come."
"Maybe so, but we'll be here if you need us. That's what these joint maneuvers are all about. Humans pride themselves on helping friends in need."
"Do not try my patience." Kiran walked over to the table and, leaning forward, planted his palms on the tabletop and rested his weight on his hands. "You are only here because of my sufferance. This…exercise will prove to even someone of your limited abilities that we do not need outside interference in our affairs.
"Besides," the admiral continued, he steely eyes riveted on Trip, "you do not speak for Starfleet or for the government of United Earth. This is nothing more than pointless conjecture."
"I know. But it isn't in Earth's best interests to allow outside forces to threaten the stability of Vulcan. If you ask for our help, I honestly believe that you'll get it." Licking his lips, Trip paused. "But you'll have to ask."
"Never."
Kiran straightened up and walked around the end of the table toward the doors. "I do not have time to indulge in idle conversation. You will be escorted to the bridge when it is time for you to put in an appearance. Until then, you will remain here. Is that understood?"
Trip turned in his chair and met the admiral's eyes. "Yes, sir."
When the doors slid open, Kiran took a deep breath, pulling himself up to his full height, and stalked from the room. Subcommander Vasic cast one last haughty look at Tucker and followed along behind the admiral.
Luvan remained at his post outside the door. "I will be here if you need anything, Commander."
Trip figured that was a Vulcan euphemism for "stay put or else."
Deciding not to tempt fate, he managed to mutter, "Gotcha," before the doors slid shut.
As soon as he was alone, Trip restlessly got to his feet. Following in the admiral's footsteps, he walked around the table to the viewport and looked out at the stars, but there was nothing he hadn't seen before. He turned back to look at the conference room. There was nothing remarkable here either. The commonplace room, obviously intended for staff use and not for diplomatic functions, was furnished only with the long metal table and ten uncomfortable matching chairs. A small food synthesizer was inset into the wall to the right and a plaque of some kind hung on the wall to the left. Trip made a mental note to ask T'Pol about the plaque when he returned to Enterprise; maybe it held some special significance for Vulcans.
With precious little to look at, Trip decided to put his other senses to work. From the feel of things, he was sure this room was directly above engineering. Since this was probably as close as he was ever going to get to the Tar'hana's powerful warp engine, he knew he was just going to have to be content to use his imagination.
Turning back toward the viewport, he slowly pressed his right palm flat against the inside of the ship's hull and murmured, "Hello, pretty lady. My name's Trip." With the introductions out of the way, he closed his eyes and concentrated, reveling in the feel of the subtle rhythms and vibrations of the engine through the deck plating. Using the techniques T'Pol had taught him, he slipped into a meditative state. Slowly as he focused on the barely perceptible sounds and pulsations which surrounded him, he began to create a picture of the engine in his mind.
To be continued…