Ineluctable

By Asso

Part Eight


Slowly, I know, but we are moving forward.

It is ineluctable.


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Such an inaction was exasperating.

Yes, this was the word. Exasperating.

And even more than that, it was fitting the word "inaction".

Archer stood up, nervous and impatient. Inaction was not made for him. It was wrong. No. More. It was...

It was exasperating.

Tense and motionless, the Captain looked in front of him without actually seeing anything, without in reality sensing anything except the frustrating feeling of that damn forced inactivity.

Of the inert waiting.

Inert.

Behold. This was exact.

Inert.

He hated being inert.

It was... exasperating.

Archer folded his hands behind his back and began pacing the room with long strides.

This, namely walking that way back and forth trying to control his nervousness, was usual for him. He not even noticed.

But...

He halted abruptly.

Well... but it was not at all usual for him keep the hands crossed behind his back. Like...

Like T'Pol.

Damn! That damn Vulcan was everywhere, on his ship! Even when she was not present.

Suddenly Archer smiled.

Well, of course! How could it be otherwise? All in all, she was... well, yes... was the First Lady of Enterprise. Okay, she was not the wife of… oh, ahem… of the first authority, the actual authority, of Enterprise, viz of… of him himself, of the Captain. However she was the wife of the Great Chief Engineer, of the... - Archer's smile deepened a little bit – ...of the ship's First Wizard. And that First Magician there, no point in denying it - pointless and silly - had undoubtedly ended up being invested with an authority, or rather with an authoritativeness, earned on the field, which had flanked his own.

Which, indeed... oh well, yes ... which he felt that sometimes went even beyond his own.

Trip, his friend Trip, was unquestionably an authority, on Enterprise, a veritable authority. Acknowledged by all.

This was… slightly hurting, in a way, but he had learned to accept it, and, after all, Trip - and even T'Pol, who already possessed per se an authority that her marriage with Trip had simply increased all the more - though aware of the moral stature they had acquired, didn't flaunt it, and he, Archer, still remained, in the eyes of all, the Captain, in a sense also and just by virtue of the respect that those two showed for him.

The Captain's smile widened a little more yet.

His Majesty Charles Antony "Trip" Tucker the Third, the Lord of the Engines, and Her Highness T'Pol of Vulcan, his Vulcan Queen Consort.

Yeah. His Vulcan Queen Consort. A Queen Consort…

The smile died away.

… a Queen Consort who was waiting for the awakening of her King. Mh no, this wasn't entirely correct. The truly correct concept was "A Queen Consort forced to wait for the awakening of her King… in the inertia."

Like him, Archer.

But at least... at least she knew what would have happened!

Trip would have woken up.

And she would have had him again with her.

Sooner or later, this was what would have happened!

Instead, he ... he...

Archer crossly uncrossed his hands from behind his back and clenched forcibly his fists.

Damn! His choices were not wrong, he was sure, but staying there, waiting without knowing how much there would have been to wait and especially without being able to know what actually would have happened, it was unnerving.

It was exasperating!

Eyes that were not his, ears that were not his, eyes and ears of the Vulcans, of Soval, were monitoring, were on the alert. They were... on lookout duty.

Splendid.

This was the great, extraordinarily meaningful, result of all what he and his crew had been capable of proving over time on countless occasions, and also – perhaps even above all, it was necessary to say it - of what Trip, and T'Pol too, had been capable of showing and doing, and of the bond that linked the two, that no one could deny or ignore. Not even he, Archer. Not even Soval.

Okay. All magnificent.

What could one want more?

The contemptuous and distrustful Vulcans, full of arrogance, and ... well yes, one had to be honest ... the Vulcans for whom the Terrans - and he, Archer, had been at the forefront in this regard - harboured mistrust not to say ill-concealed hostility... well, those same Vulcans were at that moment providing their work in a network of protective oversight that allowed the Terrans to stay hidden in the shadows without offering theirs side to any kind of treacherous attack.

So, really. What the hell could one want more?

Nothing. Sure.

Yeah. But in this way, the Terrans - he, Archer - were inert.

And then, how long would the wait have lasted? And the wait for what?

Damn! It was ... was a jumble of nothing! Of uncertainty!

Of... of inertia.

Of maddening inaction.

Without a clue about anything were happening outside the closed world of Enterprise.

In the impossibility to formulate any kind of prediction.

And as if all this were not enough... those damn engines!

Had he rightly chosen the course of action? Had he done well to listen to Malcolm?

But yes! What the hell! Certainly that he had done well!

But... how many unknowns! How many!

And all this was not yet sufficient to fill up the measure, damn it! There was also... the other Trip.

How had he done to arrive? And... and where had he come from? From a world in which he, Archer, and his friends, comrades, colleagues, simple acquaintances, everyone ... in which even the known and unknown enemies were fantasy!

But how was it possible?

And also for any explanation in this respect, much as piecemeal, murky, absurd, this could be, he had to wait in the inertia.

Eh no! At least that, no!

The Captain watched almost with animosity the door of his room.

Damn Phlox! They had almost been about to have some kind of information about the duplicate of Trip and about the world from which he came, maybe - who knows - useful to put a little order in all that mess, and the doctor had stopped everything!

All right. Phlox was the doctor and knew all that had to be done to cure people. And in addition it was not said that the information derived from that other Trip could have been of some use. All right even on this.

But...

Damn! At least there would have been a chance to know something! Maybe, to do something!

But that damn Phlox...

However ... - Archer began to move almost without thinking about it towards the exit door - ... However, now... had not passed enough time, by chance? Wasn't it possible that the other Trip, who had already woken up by himself, thus proving to be in better condition than the... the real Trip, couldn't he have recovered enough to be able to speak, finally?

Damn doctor! But what the hell was he waiting for?

Archer stared at the door with a frown.

Well, enough now! Okay, Phlox was the doctor. But he was the Captain, for the tripe of Beelzebub!

And he had listened to the doctor!

Now...

Now the doctor had to listen to him!

Archer almost sprang toward the door.

In an amen he was out.

Headed to the sickbay.


From behind the curtain that concealed the two commanders, all of a sudden, a sound.

A wonderful sound.

Phlox knew it. He knew it very well.

Everyone, on Enterprise, knew it well.

His heart swelled at hearing it again.

And even more so, his heart swelled at the thought that there, behind that curtain, T'Pol - she, just she - was hearing it up close, more than him and... oh, of course!... more joyously than him.

He feasted his ears on that sound that, without doubt, he knew that, without doubt, T'Pol - she, just she - had aroused.

That was directed at her. That was for her.

That was the gift that her husband, her reviving husband, was donating to her, that was telling her that he was again with her.

Phlox closed his eyes, letting himself be lulled by that sound.

The laughter of Commander Charles Antony Tucker the Third.


In the midst of dreams that perhaps were not dreams, a sound burst forth, powerful and domineering.

It broke off, abruptly and once for all, the dance of the dreams that purported not to be dreams.

Drew him out of them. Definitely.

Awakened him fully.

He shook himself. Opened his eyes.

He saw again the strange infirmary where he was, that infirmary… impossible. The… sickbay of Enterprise

He saw again the alien doctor.

The physician was sitting, had his eyes shut, and, with a satisfied big smile beaming on his not human face, looked to be listening.

To that sound.

Inevitably the eyes ran to its source, while it was dying down.

Thither.

Where he knew that it lay that other.

Behind the curtain that now hid the bed where that other was sleeping. Or, rather, had slept. Until that moment.

From behind which, the sound had clearly come.

A laughter.

Which had resounded as if it had exactly been his own laughter.


"Ah!"

"Ashayam!"

T'Pol realized suddenly.

[Dark gray-green eyes, alarmed and worried, that sink into blue eyes, misted and suffering.]

Her T'hai'la had moaned with pain.

"Ashayam!" Again.

[A concerned whisper; and tense, and anxious.]

She could clearly feel his suffering.

"Ah Darling!"

"Ashayam!" Once again.

[Standing up, all a sudden and hastily, while apprehensively and fearfully clenching his contracted hand. Bending over him and bringing the tense face just a hair over his, to spy on it, to watch in those loved blue eyes. Hoping, anxiously, not to catch sight of… of anything!]

"Ashayam, what's up? What's up? What's up, my beloved?"

The blue eyes snapped shut. Tightly. With obvious pain.

"ASHAYAM!"

They got reopened, at her invocation of love.

They smiled.

They smiled at her as only to her they knew how to smile.

A little uncertain.

However they smiled at her.

"Hon... please. Stop with quips! I can not laugh. My poor bones, my muscles ... they rebel."

[A flash. Of immense relief. Into the enamoured eyes of a woman in love. Her hand that shakes his hand. Again. With caring strength. With loving gentleness. Her visage still just above his visage, close to it, while murmuring on his tantalizing mouth, brushing amorously his lips with her lips.] "Would I do better to act exactly as a Vulcan, T'hai'la?"

Her T'hai'la! That rapscallion of her T'hai'la! He wouldn't have ever changed. Never. Even reduced as he was now, he still was the scoundrel he was. But… who cared? He was like she wanted him. No. He, simply, was the one she wanted! And if he was like that, it was because… because he knew she wanted him to be like that! He was like that because he wanted to be what she loved him to be, what he knew she needed him to be! Because he… - T'Pol knew, knew for sure, and her heart melted in the warmth of this certainty - …he, as he himself said... he loved her hopelessly and madly!

[A glow, in those blue eyes; able to fully show all his affection and even to be subtly mischievous, contemporaneously, as only those eyes are capable of doing.] "You mean... to act exactly as my lovely Vulcan wifey?"

[Lips that touch each other. Souls that touch each other.]

"Since I am Vulcan and since, to all intents and purposes, I am your lovely wifey, yes, my Ashayam."

[Hearts that merge.]

"Do it, darlin', please. Make my lovely Vulcan wifey."

[Two lovers in love. Who, boundlessly, love each other.]

"Agree..."

"Good."

[Loving. Loving is to be like the one you love, loves you to be, that is, ultimately, to be yourself. Without dread of any kind. Without fear. It's to abandon yourself to the joy of loving, by acting as your heart demands you to act, by saying what it dictates you to say.] "…my lovely human hubby."

One moment. One moment of bated silence. Just one. Then…

Laboriously, at first, the brain incapable of fully grasping with promptness. Then, the realization making its way, in a more and more convinced way. And finally, powerfully and unstoppably. And longly…

Laughing!

Again. Despite the pain. Despite the exhaustion. Despite the lips dry and parched, and the burning throat, and the fatigue, and the suffering in doing so.

Laughing.

With a heart overflowing with happiness, in the awareness of being with her again, of having her with him again.

In feeling the depth of her love in the roguish words of her.

Laughing. Laughing.

Laughing again.

How not to do it?

And then, the laugh deciding to subside, at last...

Pretending to scold her, by calling her, with mock resentful irritation, with the sweetest of names ever coined by him for her, the one only by him known as really the most suitable for her. For his unique... and… lovely... indeed lovely... in every respect... Vulcan wifey.

"Hon!"

In their wonderful game of love without end.


"Well, it looks like he has woken up, Doctor."

Phlox jumped.

He turned abruptly toward the bed where the other Tucker lay.

This one had the eyes well open. He was wide awake, apparently, and was looking at him; waiting. With that look so reverberating of crafty irony, and impudent, exactly like that of... that of...

For the beard of the Great Healer! He had allowed himself to be taken by surprise! Gods of all breeds! Wasn't a single Tucker therefore sufficient, damn it?

The doctor opened his mouth to speak. He could not. Was interrupted.

He could not help but leap on his feet while turning his eyes towards the curtain, in hearing another gales of laughter come from behind it, powerful and prolonged, another unmistakable laugh of Commander Tucker, and, right after, his voice.

"Hon!"

A false rebuke. Could there be any doubt? Brimming with tenderness. Denobulan or not, by now the doctor had become an expert in deciphering the Human mood in the Human way of speaking and that of Commander Tucker, when he was addressing to T'Pol, was definitely the easiest to decrypt.

A short moment of silence, which was suddenly disrupted. "Ah, apparently, he is not alone and seems to have his work cut out."

Oh damn! Really! But just one Tucker was not enough? Phlox turned toward the source of that ironic observation and saw that this source was still watching him. And there couldn't be the slightest doubt about the expression that could be seen in those blue eyes. 'Professedly amused'... it was an underestimation!

A little stiff, the Doctor walked to the man's bed and stood right next to it, looking down at his face with what couldn't not appear as a scowl, and even vaguely fierce, in very truth.

Phlox frowned, as he severely sized up the eyes of that damned second Tucker, too damn 'carbon copy' of the first, while that one placidly reciprocated his gaze.

The Doctor could not make it that his voice didn't sound slightly piqued. "Glad to see that you feel sufficiently good, I think I can deem."

"Ah yes, that's right, Doctor. Indeed the sleep has helped me. A wee bit rough, to tell the true, but undoubtedly of great help."

The man widened his mouth between the bandages in a big cheeky smile. "Hard to believe, but you were quite right, Doctor. You really are a good physician, it must be said."

Phlox deliberately decided to avoid any behaviour less than strictly professional. Well, not just easy, to tell the truth. He was sure that, if he hadn't been prevented from doing it by the drip, that Tucker number two would have pulled his arms up and would have interlaced his hands behind his nape, in the manner of a pillow, settling down on his bed the more comfortably as possible and with a pinch of brazen exhibitionism. Just a la Tucker.

The doctor began ostentatiously to examine the medical control panel of detection of the psycho-physical parameters of the Tucker coming from where, it was not known.

"Well, well, well. Actually, everything seems to proceed in the best way."

He turned his face toward his particular patient. He winked at him. "Apparently, you've fully recovered. Let's see... personally."

The doctor's skilled and experienced hands began to do what, from all along, a true physician must be able to do. Medical devices and instruments are a great thing, but the clinic, the real one, is irreplaceable.

"So, Doctor?"

Phlox nodded, pleased. Doing the doctor was something that always and in any case overshadowed everything else. His being piqued, his understandable irritation, had vanished. He smiled. "Perfect, my friend. Everything perfect. And I'm also sure that..."

The doctor nodded again, with force, as if he wanted to give strength to his thought. "Yes, I believe it's just so."

He bent down; his hands began to work again. With delicacy and skill, the bandages wrapped around the face of his patient were unrolled, were removed.

The man's face - that face - appeared in full sight.

Phlox nodded once again, smug and glad. "Good, great! The signs of wounds and burns are still visible, but they will disappear." The smile became huge. "You'll be again as beautiful as the sun, my friend!"

"Ah, this is really good news. It would have been really a shame having to give up my beauty."

"Oh... ah... Well, you know, I wanted to say..."

"And, tell me, doctor, eating something and maybe drinking, too, considering that I feel as dry and parched as a lemon, might it be of help to recover more quickly my beauty?"

"Oh... oh... I'm sorry! You are right." The doctor smiled again. "Hungry, huh? And even thirsty, of course. A good sign. I arrange for this immediately."

Phlox went to the intercom. "Kitchen, here it's Doctor Phlox."

"Doctor?"

"Prepare immediately..."

"A nice large steak!"

Phlox turned to Tucker number two with a hint of disapproval in his eyes. He did not deign to retort to his naughty patient. He spun and spoke again in the intercom. "A soup, and bring it to the infirmary."

He could not help but wickedly smile, surreptitiously, at the clear grunt of disappointment coming from behind his shoulders. A bit of justice, after all! The knife by the handle, it was him to have it.

From the intercom it came off a puzzled question. "Doctor, a soup or a steak? I thought I heard..."

"A soup, I said." The doctor looked sideways at his patient, accentuating a little his catty smile. "Abundant." Then he turned back to the intercom. "And bring also something to drink."

"Whiskey?"

Honestly exasperated, the doctor rolled his eyes. He turned back to that Tucker a little too Tucker. He looked at him sternly, without speaking.

"Oh... ahem... I beg your pardon, Doctor."

Phlox did not comment. He spoke again into the intercom, keeping his voice the quietest as possible. "Fruit juice. Apple. Understood?" From the intercom, the voice again. "Understood, sir. I provide immediately."

The doctor approached the bed of his patient. "All right. However, to eat and drink, you have to be free to move." His hands started once again to work. In an instant, the drip, and similar trappings, there were no longer.

"Everything all right?"

"Everything all right, Doctor, thank you."

"Very well. Let's try to get up."

The physician helped with expertise his patient to get out of bed. This one, aided by Phlox, stood up. A little wobbly, but he did.

"Are you okay?"

"It seems ... I think so, Doctor."

"Good." The doctor positioned well around the shaky man the hospital nightshirt he wore. "Now, let's go to the table. You will eat sitting at the table."

"Okay, Doctor. I'll try."

It was not a walk. Aches, fatigue, weakness. The muscles were not cooperating at all. But in the end, he made it.

"Ah, well, well, well. Fiber strong, no doubt about it. But…" The doctor smiled with a cunning and sly air. "...You know, something told me that your fiber was really very strong."

"Something, Doctor?"

"Mh... ahem... sure. Something. Well, let's sit down, come on. You do not want to eat standing up, do you?"

"No, Doctor. I would say not."

"Okay. Come on, then. Yes... so... ookay, just like that. Perfect! Very well. Now we are ready. Shortly, you... "

Just then, the infirmary door opened. A man entered.

"Here is what you required, Doctor."

"Very well." The doctor approached the man and took out of his hands the tray that he was holding, ignoring the look with which he watched the one who sat at the table. "You can go now. Leave it to me."

The man with difficulty looked away from the object of his intent scrutiny, nodded, turned on his heel and walked away.

As the door closed behind him, Phlox went to the table and put the tray down on it.

"Here you are. Come on, eat it now. You said you're hungry, right?"

Tucker, that Tucker, did not answer. He looked at Phlox with a pensive air, well far away from any facetious appearance. Then he gestured toward the curtain that hid the other guest of the infirmary. "And… that other, Doctor? Can't it be that he too feels hungry? And dry as a squeezed lemon."

He lowered his eyes to hide his gaze and what lay behind it.

"Like me."


End of Part Eight

TBC in Part Nine

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Yeah.

Like him.

Without a T'Pol, though.