Phlox began the treatment by helping the command remove the fatigue blouse and undershirt. It was a laborious task as he pulled the clothing away, trying to avoid irritating the wound on his left shoulder and right side. When the jacket was finally opened and removed, Trip had simply taken a pair of scissors and cut the undershirt open, carefully pulling it away with the physical discomfort etched on his face. He looked so drawn T'Pol almost gasped. There was nothing left on his frame, any fat, any reserve had been burned away and his skin seemed loose over the musculature in a way that was almost farcically pronounced. She had always found his physique agreeable, she enjoyed his physical strength, the appearance of his musculature, the way he seemed to dwarf her, it made her feel safe, like he was biologically equipped to protect her from any potential extant source of harm.
The bright red of the wounds on his arm and side drew her attention away from the fact he was at least 9 kilograms lighter now than when he had left Enterprise and not all of it could be attributed to burning the small amount of fat he had on his body, it was almost as if something had sucked the life out of him and the wounds seemed to be very visible candidates. She finally noticed, stitched up his chest, a series of smaller red marks, indicators of where his body armor had managed to more fully absorb the energy of disruptor impacts.
"Commander Tucker, it appears you were not eating properly on the planet, and you are dehydrated." Phlox admonished in a marginally recriminative tone.
"Sorry Doc, we kind of got busy down there."
"With your hypoglycemia and lack of sleep caloric energy was all you could rely on to keep your energy reserves in place, how did you function?" The Denobulan inquired in his quick animated fashion.
"Willpower...all we had left for a while there was adrenalin and willpower."
"When did you sleep last, Commander?"
Trip's eyes rolled up and away, mouth pursed as he tried to access in his memory a recollection of events and time elapsed. "You know...I have no idea."
Phlox sighed and gave Tucker and scolding look. "Commander..."
"Phlox, I'm sorry, but..." He replied softly, apparently feeling quite chastened and either physically or emotionally incapable of his usual defensiveness, "I had men dyin' or injured down there right and left. I had to make sure everything was still runnin', I just couldn't find the time to do more than close my eyes for a few minutes."
"I'm not sure if I should send you to the galley or your quarters first."
Trip managed a feeble grin, "If its all the same to you, lyin' down for a while sounds like a winner."
Phlox nodded with a slight smile of his own, "Of course Commander, after I get the infection neutralized I'll give you a nutrient injection and you may return to your quarters. Now, as for the shoulder injury, you are developing an infection as you can note from the tissue swelling and temperature of the tissue itself. Fortunately we caught it before tissue necrosis can occur so you should be able to recover quite easily but I would still like to perform a dermal regeneration treatment while I have you here."
Chief Hospital Corpsman Cutler crossed over to Tucker and began running the dermal regenerator over the injury site. Tucker fidgeted at the tingling sensation forcing a slight frown from the Chief as she admonished him, "Hold still Commander, it'll only take a few minutes."
Phlox meanwhile crossed to T'Pol, gesturing for her to step around the side of his office and out of eyeshot. Once they were clear of he turned to T'Pol with a serious expression on his face. The petite Vulcan recoiled in anticipatory fear of some horrible revelation about the Commander's condition being made.
"Sub-commander, as you know I served as a medic in the Denobulan infantry and spent a number months treating injuries during the forty seven war while part of the inter-species medical exchange." The doctor began, "Men, after being in a combat zone, often experience a rather pronounced desire for sexual intimacy with a spouse or lover. In his current condition I do not believe it would be prudent for the commander to engage in any strenuous activity for a few days at least."
T'Pol seemed rather flustered by the conversation, "A Vulcan wife does not refuse her spouse."
"Just tell him you are not 'in the mood' as it were."
"We do not have distinct moods. When he experiences sexual desire, so do I and likewise when I experience desire, so does he." T'Pol replied, very matter-of-fact about the issue she would rather remain private.
"How do you deal with the rather prevalent morning 'issue' human males seem to suffer from?" Phlox was letting medical curiosity carry him into dangerous territory, a fact that was emphasized by T'Pol's olive flush in her cheeks, forehead, and ears.
"We had been trying to discover a suitable remedy to that issue."
Phlox reached into his jacket and pulled out a hypospray, holding it up by the injection stem, "This is a sedative, it is entirely possible that in the wake of recent events Commander Tucker will have trouble sleeping regardless of his current level of exhaustion, I would suggest that you inject him with this after he has attended to his personal libations upon returning to quarters."
T'Pol jacked a brow upward, "You seem to assume that I will be joining commander Tucker in his quarters. You seem to have forgotten how small the are."
"Actually, sub-commander, I assumed he would be joining you in yours. I assume you would like some time alone with your husband and perhaps a little-" The doctor bounced his shoulders with a smile, "physical affection." His expression became suddenly and unpredictably serious, "But no sex." He raised an admonishing finger, "he needs time to recover and if commander Tucker approaches sexuality like he does engineering and, apparently war fighting, then he will likely strain himself striving for excellence."
T'Pol felt a strange little mental nudge, something in her brain urging her to volunteer a hinting amount of information she would have normally reserved. She spoke softly, her voice in the low smoky tones of intimate details. "Doctor, you are assuming that commander Tucker has to strive for excellence and that it does not just come to him naturally."
Phlox snapped his head back almost as if the words had struck him, eyebrows elevated, "Still, sub-commander, the order stands."
"I will attempt to convince him of the logic of your prescribed course of action should the event arise, but I will not refuse him."
Phlox sighed, "I suppose I cannot expect more than that. Have you experienced any further abnormal symptoms regarding the pregnancy?"
"In regards to that, I would find it agreeable if you did not share any information regarding the immune system response with the commander if he does not ask directly." T'Pol looked away, not wanting to look the Doctor in the eye when asking him to withhold information from the child's father.
Phlox sighed again, "I will not venture the information if I am not asked, may I ask why you do not want the commander to know?"
"I do not want to cause him unnecessary concern. The issue has been resolved, it would be illogical to cause him additional stress by bringing the matter up when it has been taken care of."
"T'Pol, it would be best if you informed him. If there is some other unforeseen...issue, he will want to be able to make an informed decision if you are in some way, shape, or form incapacitated." The doctor's tone had taken a scolding edge.
"That is a logical conclusion, doctor. I will inform him of the matter when I am satisfied he is mentally capable of receiving the news."
"Now, as to my original question?"
"I am finding the experience of consuming animal flesh is no longer as disagreeable as I had initially believed it to be." She replied tightly, again looking away as if in some embarrassment.
"Excellent, it means your body chemistry is adjusting accordingly, just remember, you are doing this for your child. From what I have read it is not entirely uncommon for Vulcan children to consume animal protein on a semi-regular basis during key points of their development." The Denobulan smiled.
"Among the cultural sub-set of Vulcans to which my family belongs total abstinence from consuming any form of flesh or eggs is effectively banned from birth." T'Pol stated flatly, "I had never consumed flesh in any form prior to your dietary stipulation."
"If you intend to make a life with commander Tucker, do you not think it might eventually be inevitable regardless of whether you had decided to have children or not?"
"Commander Tucker is very accommodating in regards to my anathema for the practice of meat eating, he does not abstain himself but generally tries to avoid doing so in front of me." She clarified.
"Very well, please try to ensure the commander gets at least sixteen good hours of rest." Phlox smiled again, lacing his fingers together at his waist.
T'Pol frowned slightly, "That will not be plausible, he has a debriefing with the captain in the morning."
"At what time?"
"Zero eight thirty according to mister Reed." She supplied, expression passive.
"I will contact the captain and give him an update on commander Tucker's current medical condition, surely he will revise the meeting time." Phlox commented, staring at his office disconnectedly. "In the meantime, please be certain the commander gets some rest, he is in far worse condition than I led him to believe. While his health is not in danger as it stands now, he is still suffering from severe physical fatigue that could lead to a litany of complications."
"I understand doctor, I will attempt to ensure he receives proper rest and relaxation. Are we excused?"
"Just as soon as Corpsman Cutler has completed her dermal regeneration procedure." The doctor said in a conciliatory tone.
Stepping from around the side of the office they both noted Trip's posture. While he sat upright, his face and eyes were fixed on some indistinct part of the floor or perhaps beyond the floor, out through the hull and into space. Humans called it the "thousand yard stare" and it was one of the hallmarks of post traumatic stress. Phlox's countenance darkened as he suddenly realized that his physical condition was not as imminently dangerous to his health as was his current mental state. Before the engineer could look up Phlox stepped in front of T'Pol who looked up to see the seriousness of the doctor's expression. He nodded with his head back towards the office and they once again stepped back around the corner unnoticed by Tucker.
"T'Pol, I understand Vulcan emotional reserve is of great importance to their mental well being, however humans tend to be far more emotive and commander Tucker is clearly near emotional collapse. You might be better served by avoiding his presence this evening."
"That is out of the question, doctor, he is my mate and I share his pain." T'Pol choked the words out, her expression an inscrutable mask of emotions Phlox could not adequately catalogue.
"Very well, I will up the dosage on the sedative, it should put him to sleep quickly."
T'Pol nodded and turned back to check on her husband. By now Cutler had finished her treatment and Trip hopped down from the biobed, looking at his shredded shirt and torn fatigue blouse. He sighed, he'd be giving someone a show as neither would adequately cover him now, he hadn't even been aware of how many holes were in the jacket. Someone, somewhere, would consider it to be fashion or maybe even a collector's item once word of what happened made it out and into the media and he wondered with almost morbid curiosity what he would be able to get for it when that time came. He suddenly felt a totally disoriented burst of rage and he grabbed the jacket angrily, ready to toss it into the closest disposal unit when the narrow Vulcan fingers and small hand came to rest softly on his. It was almost like the seething anger exploded into a fine mist, leaving his body as quickly as it came and he turned to look into her eyes seeing the compassion that everyone else would miss.
"I am certain a museum on Vulcan would wish to acquire this piece as a reminder of the debt of gratitude that is owed to those men that died protecting our world." She said softly.
"You're right."
T'Pol took the moment to survey the physical damage he had sustained and noted where the shoulder wound had once been split open and burned. The rending of the tissue had not extended very deep but there would almost certainly be a scar left there even with the dermal regeneration treatment. The wound to his right side showed similar signs of having been a tissue penetrating burn that would likely result in a starburst shaped scar when it finished healing. A thin film covered both wounds, it would act as a gas permeable bandage, protecting the wounds from getting wet but still allowing air access to them until they had healed sufficiently. She counted fifteen other wounds on his body of minor severity, mostly burns less than ten centimeters across extending from his stomach to chest and clearly not being beyond skin thickness in depth or severity. The cuts on his neck from shrapnel were also mercifully shallow as were the cuts on his forearms. The muscle was much more defined now that whatever adipose tissue he had seemed to have burned away and left him almost disturbingly lean. He had been lean before with a low body fat percentage courtesy of his swift metabolism and high activity level, but were it not for the bulk of his musculature he would look emaciated now.
The door opened to the sickbay and they turned to see Archer step in, his expression sour and suddenly taken aback. Trip closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his mind racing right in time with his heart as he got that sick feeling in his stomach that seemed to suggest confrontation was imminent. He didn't want to have to do it, didn't feel like he should have to, but it was perhaps in everyone's interest if he apologized to the captain. He didn't feel he had done anything wrong or overstepped his bounds, but Archer might not see it that way and at the end of the day he was a subordinate and respect of one's commanding officer was expected. Archer could effectively demand an apology and while Tucker was not legally obligated to comply, the captain could just as easily cite him for insubordination.
Be a man, Tucker, be a man and take your lumps.
"Cap'n, sir, I'd like apologize for my behavior while in communication with the ship during the siege on Camp Kelly. I was disrespectful and out of line, sir."
Archer waved it off with a dismissive gesture, "You were under a lot of stress Trip, getting attacked on all sides by a numerically superior enemy was a major strain. I was just coming down to check on your condition."
"They managed to shoot me up pretty good. Thank God for the thermo-ballistic personal armor system."
T'Pol noted her mate's rigidity, despite the pleasantries there was an obvious tension between both men and she could feel it, there was something almost adversarial in the air. She sensed feelings of shame and anger through the bond with her husband as well as elements of indignation and disdain. On Archer's face she noted was looked like antipathy and frustration. She found herself at a loss as to determine exactly what it was that had caused these emotions to be expressed by two men she had always assumed were close friends. She could only assume that it had something to do with Trip's actions on Vulcan, as history would remember it, it was Charles Tucker, not Jonathan Archer, who would be most responsible for stymieing the Romulan invasion and setting the ground work for the successful liberation of the world. Trip would be the one having medals pinned to his chest and high military honors. Archer would end up a foot note, the captain who just so happened to command the ship on which Tucker served.
From Trip she suddenly started to sense feelings of protectiveness, specifically he seemed to view Archer as a threat to her. It was confusing, why did her mate feel like Archer was a threat to her? Human psychology, specifically male reactions, it suddenly dawned on her that he viewed Archer not as a threat to her specifically but as competition for her. He feared that Archer would try to steal her away from him and he wanted to protect his claim to his mate. It was absurd, she had no interest in the captain romantically at all, her desire was for Trip and Trip alone. But, perhaps there was something he sensed that she could not. Humans released pheromones, they were not particularly strong but it was possible that human biology was innately tuned to pick up on the signals. She needed to extricate him from this situation, as emotionally overwrought as he was, the unspoken tension between the two officers could result in a loss of control on his part as she could almost see the black oily smoke wisps coiling around him as the modified MAOA gene began dumping hormones and chemicals into his system, preparing him for deadly violence. His body jerked suddenly and his posture changed ever so slightly, as if something inside him had disconnected, like a safety switch had been thrown and he was now a weapon in battery, and the haunting assertion T'Pau had made suddenly echoed through her mind.
She decided to brave exposing herself to the monstrous element of his violent subconscious again and reached to him through the bond. She would sooth him at her own expense, keep him from doing to Archer what she knew he was capable of. She heard a small quiet voice coming through the bond out of his mind; a poem sung softly and she felt his balance begin to restore itself. He took a deep breath and his posture relaxed as the aggression of tensed muscle and prepared stance seemed to slide off him and down through the deck plating to be lost in some dark part of the ship which festered with displaced hate and anger. T'Pau's words suddenly seemed hollow and meaningless; a weapon could not control itself, it could no order itself not to fire, it could not defy the mechanism that made it operate, but he had done just that. The fact he had done so seemed to terrify Archer more than the palpable threat of violence that had radiated silently from him moments before. She could see the captain's loss of composure in the wake of the sudden changes in the engineer's demeanor.
"Take as much time as you need, commander. Just come see me when you get a chance tomorrow."
"Aye, sir." As if to emphasize the reply he snapped to attention and saluted, the act prompting Archer to grudgingly return the gesture.
T'Pol let out a small sight of relief and walked up to her husband, looking up into his eyes which lowered to meet hers. There was something she couldn't exactly place in them, something that still felt somehow threatening. She decided to disregard it, he didn't need to know of her misgivings right now, it would just be another thing to disquiet him.
"K'diwa, you should rest."
"I know darlin', can I take a shower first?"
"I believe you would be more comfortable if you did." She could almost feel his heart sink, it had been a case of him "fishing", trying to determine what her intentions were.
"Alright then, any chance I'll see you later tonight?"
They were speaking in low quiet tones, trying to ensure that neither Phlox nor Cutler were made privy to the conversation.
She arched a brow in amusement, "I believe that is a safe assumption, allow me to escort you."
They hadn't even made it half way down the hall before they found themselves accosted by a fast approaching Sato and Mayweather. Hoshi dispensed with any attempt at propriety and gave commander Tucker a worried hug, every ounce of concern she had experienced pouring out in that moment. T'Pol cocked an amused brow at her mate, a split second of defensiveness creeping into her mind until she realized there was nothing romantically competitive about the action, it was merely humans showing platonic affection for one another as was their way. After the momentary embrace she stood back and shook her head.
"You have no idea how worried you had us."
"Sorry 'bout that." Trip smiled weakly, he looked over to the Navigator to whom he extended a hand, "Travis."
Mayweather spread his arms and stepped in, "Hug it out, commander."
T'Pol noted her mate's chuckle as he embraced the junior officer, patting him on the back.
Hoshi took an appraising look over the shirtless form of Tucker, the tattered MCUU jacket over his shoulder, he was still in the camouflaged trousers and boots, the thigh holster with side arm still strapped to his leg, he presented quite the picture and she whistled appraisingly, turning to T'Pol and speaking in low almost conspiratorial tones.
"If you let him parade around like this you're going to make every woman on the crew jealous, sub-commander."
T'Pol elevated an amused brow again, "Would that include yourself, lieutenant Sato?"
"Me? No, I'm just enjoying the view...would have been nicer without the injuries though." Hoshi gave Trip a scolding look, fists on her hips in a mock scolding posture, "Duck next time, huh? You're ruining the peep-show for us girls, you jerk."
"What are you two doin' down here?"
"I'm using the head." Hoshi nodded.
"I'm off duty anyway." Travis offered.
"Well, I'm glad to be back, now if y'all don't mind, I really gotta get a shower and some sleep. I think I'm goin' on day five now..."
T'Pol was making it clear that she wanted her mate to keep the pleasantries to a minimum as she slowly began to continue down the corridor to the turbolifts. She wanted to cloister him before anyone could ask any questions about the fighting on Vulcan, a subject which was surely still very sensitive for him. One of the failings of human emotionality was that well-wishing could often being intrusive or traumatic in its own right when the subject was sufficiently delicate. In regards to her own pregnancy and the invasion of Vulcan, she suspected that some of the more senior staff of Enterprise had acted as insulation against some of the more persistent expressions of sympathy, congratulations, and, perhaps most thankfully of all, resentment. This situation was slightly different, she knew Trip counted both Sato and Mayweather as friends and if she tried to actively put them off it would be rude and, perhaps, intrusive on her part. As it was she took the course of action that acted as a gentle nudge to her husband.
"Yes, sir. Just wanted to welcome you back personally." Sato replied.
"Likewise, sir." Mayweather agreed.
"We'll catch up later." Hoshi replied, her supreme capacity for reading the mood prompting her to facilitate the commanders extraction from the conversation.
"I'll catch up with you two later."
Trip quickly caught up with T'Pol and they made their way to turbolift. Once they had both stepped inside he leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes, he took a deep breath, nostril flaring to allow a quicker intake of air. When the lift stopped he followed T'Pol through the door in a daze, total situational unawareness, it was the exact opposite of his usual behavior. He didn't look at what deck they were on, what section, where she was leading. When they finally stopped in front of her quarters it took him a moment to fully grasp the fact as he knit his brows together in confusion. Why had she walked to her quarters first?
"Alright then, I suppose I'll see you later."
T'Pol seemed similarly confused, "I had thought you would prefer to stay here..."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting back the exhaustion, shaking his head suddenly as if in doing so he could clear the fog that seemed to be cloaking his conscious mind. He gave her a vacant look, like something she had said had not made any sense to him, just wasn't managing to register.
"Wait...what? I thought I was..." Something once again clicked in his head, his entire demeanor changed unexpectedly. "I can't do that, its against regulations."
"Trip, you do not understand, when our relationship became common knowledge among the admiralty, MCS had no choice but make concessions, your quarters have been resumed, all of your belongings were transferred here. These are your quarters now."
"Well then where are you stayin'?"
T'Pol wasn't sure what had left him so utterly vacuous, perhaps it was the result of exhaustion but his behavior was almost alarmingly naive. "Logically, with my husband."
She noticed the stares they were receiving from passing crewmen, the float shift change had apparently just occurred and numerous members of the crew were heading to their respective billets or the bathing facilities. As it was the nature of the pregnancy was still subject to speculation and theory. Thanks to a bit of misinformation many of the crew still believed that natural conception between Vulcan and Human was impossible so the prevailing theory seemed to be that T'Pol's pregnancy was a biological clock response and that she had been impregnated in vitro. A certain faction of what Hoshi had called the "Trip Tucker Fan Club" still held out hope, it seemed, that the marriage was a sham to allow T'Pol the dignity of becoming pregnant in wed-lock. She still found herself divided over making their relationship known or, at least, common knowledge or whether she should try to keep the truth obscured.
Either way, him standing in front of "her" quarters now drawing attention to their presence and the fact that he might be entering them was just adding more tidbits to the rumor mill. Everything she was picking up through the bond was a confused and muddled garble of thoughts and reactions, a hundred different voices all speaking simultaneously; different words, different languages, different tone, pitch and timbre. And behind all of it was the humming exhaustion, complete bankruptcy of energy and reserves. The very fact he was still standing was something of a scientific mystery, Vulcan suffering from equivalent amounts of mental and physical exhaustion were often cloistered for extended periods to effectively recover. The fact that he was nearly delirious at this point was understandable.
"K'diwa, please come inside. This is something that would logically be best explained after you are better rested."
He continued to stare at her blankly, then his face began to screw into a progressively more confused expression. This was intolerable, he was beyond reason at this point, she had no choice but to physically guide him inside. She turned, punched the code into the lock on the door access console and when it had opened she hooked her right hand into the waist of the camouflage trousers and pulled him into the room. No sooner had the door closed she felt his arms close around her, lifting her off the ground and looking up into her eyes with a devious grin.
"Gotcha..."
She became aware of his mental processes, gathering thoughts, reflections, memories and shoving them back into that dark area of his consciousness she understood now to be the violent and terrifying aspect of his psyche she had come to know all to well. T'Pol was genuinely surprised, she had truly believed that his mental processes were severely impaired by fatigue and the trauma he had experienced during the fighting. In actuality he seemed far more intact and was exhibiting much greater control over his mental processes than she thought possible given his current condition.
"I can feel you pokin' around in there."
"You seemed to be genuinely disturbed and confused. I find it...alarming...that you could mislead me so easily." She was trying to hide her feelings of affection and admiration under a facade of irritation and disappointment. She softly probed his emotional reactions, trying to see if she had been effective in making him feel chastened, to her surprise she only felt his affection and a hint of amusement.
"There are things in there right now I don't want you seein'. Its bad enough for me, I'm not gonna make you suffer through it too."
"A wife must help her husband in his times of emotional duress."
"Oh no, ko-telsu t'nash-veh. A husband should spare his wife sufferin' where he can. I'll process this on my own."
"Is this what our marriage will hold for us? Will we hide things from one another, deceive one another?" She looked down at him, a little hurt and anger showing in her eyes now, she could feel him react to the emotions projected through the bond.
"Never when it matters, darlin'."
It was an infuriatingly human answer, but she sense the truth in what he said; he would never hide things that matter from her, he would always be faithful to her and her alone and she could feel that. He moved his consciousness into her mind, slipping into her through the bond, wrapping himself around her gently, softly, a comforting warmth. It was like a warm blanket, old and frayed at the edges, but soft, so very soft, more so than the finest cloth that could be had. It was comforting, but she was still irritated by the fact that he could be so positively intractable. Human pride, it was by its very nature illogical. Vulcans took pride in logic, emotional suppression, propriety and excellence, humans considered pride an emotion and while by dint of that it was the antithesis of logic, they were so remarkably similar. She canted her head to the side looking down at him from where he held her up.
"You have not eaten, have you?"
"Its been a while, I think about a day or so." He answered with almost chagrined frankness.
"While you are attending to your hygiene I will acquire some sustenance for you." His odor was indeed pungent, but there was something almost intoxicating about it as her mind twisted olfactory input into a series of normally disassociated emotions. It was his smell, it signaled to her that her mate had returned to her, through great peril and personal risk. He had not only returned, he had returned triumphant, already being hailed by some as the savior of the planet. It was a rather overblown platitude, certainly he had contributed greatly to the liberation of the world, perhaps more so than any single individual, but to call him the savior was perhaps a bit of oversimplification. Regardless of what was thought of him, she knew he had endured much and acted with intrepidity, courage, and intelligence and that was more than enough for her.
"Alright then, I'll try to leave some hot water for the rest of the ship, but can't make any promises." He set her down, and a quick peck on her forehead later turned to the bathroom.
She was about to remind him that all the potable water on the ship came from identical tanks and that there was no separate tank where heated water was kept when she remembered that many human domiciles had an independent system for heating water ahead of time. It was an attempt at humor and upon further analysis she realized it was an indication that he planned on a very long shower. Part of her entertained the idea of joining him and, perhaps, upon her return from retrieving something for them to eat, she would do so. If she simplified, looked at the inclination through the aegis of Vulcan pairings, helping him bathe given the extent of his injuries and the degree to which his energy reserves were depleted was the logical course of action. However, this was nothing like a typical Vulcan pairing, they had been separated less than twenty days, but she felt intense pangs of longing for him during that time. She lacked the capacity to adequately explain what peculiar dynamic had caused the pronounced side-effect of his absence. Perhaps it was because he was human, his own emotionality so much better able to activate hers. She wanted to help him bathe because she wanted to be near and touch her mate, this was perhaps logically Vulcan course of action if one were to analyze what the mate bond was supposed to be, of course she was certain that most marriages among her people weren't that idyllic.
She found that she was walking towards the galley at a quicker pace than normal, by her estimations she was moving at 173% of her normal pace. Based on the time of day, or rather, evening she knew her salad would have been prepared, but she would have to scrounge something appropriate for Trip. She chided herself mentally, if she had been thinking she would have called ahead to the kitchen to prepare him something, instead she had been so preoccupied by his injuries and level of exhaustion that she had neglected to do so. She had not been able to ruminate on her perceived failing as a spouse before she felt a nudge from him through the bond. It wasn't so much spoken as a feeling, something about it felt decidedly Trip-like, almost as if he was trying to reassure her, comfort her.
Don't worry about it darlin'.
He would have said something exactly like that, simple and to the point, and of course he probably would have tossed in a self-depreciating joke she would have had been forced to probe him to understand, if only partially. Quite to her horror the Galley was full, most of the bridge staff was present, of course, bravo shift would be on the bridge and in the CIC now. She approached the steward trying to keep her back presented to the rest of the room, she had learned rather quickly that eye contact and facial recognition were common cues for humans to initiate contact or conversation, the act of not presenting one's face was a subtle way to dissuade would be conversationalists. Something about taking Commander Tucker something to eat made it seem as if she had cloistered him and would doubtlessly provoke speculation amongst the habitually curious humans of the crew. As it was, few of the crew actually knew the extent of her relationship with Trip. Hoshi, the paragon gossip monger of the ship, had informed T'Pol that of the crew she was aware of only 38% that believed that there was some form of relationship between her and the commander, of the remaining 62% that had not been directly privy to the conversation or informed by T'Pol or Tucker themselves, most believed that Trip had simply served as the provider of gametes for the purpose of her pregnancy.
Overt questioning, inquisitive eyes, lips whose edges seemed to ask before words formed on tongues, "what exactly is going on?" She had to dodge, misdirect, evade, anything that could be done to keep it from going to rumor to confirmed fact, confirmed fact to top media story. It wasn't just her dignity at stake, not just his or their baby's, it was the entire institution of their marriage that would be dragged unceremoniously on a slide for the inspection and dissection by any and all curious parties under the merciless and unflattering lens of the public opinion microscope. It was almost inevitable, Hoshi had put it into context with the most startling clarity a few days before.
"Of course people are surprised, most humans would probably think you are frigid T'Pol, its hard to grasp the idea of Vulcans as passionate beings that want to be loved physically as well as emotionally. We can't wrap our minds around the idea of a human and Vulcan couple, much less one that had produced a love child."
T'Pol had been compelled to remind Sato that she and Trip were, indeed, married under Vulcan law. As she understood it, among humans, the term "love child" had always referred to children conceived and born out of wedlock. While their bond was not legally or culturally recognized by human practice, she felt that their mutual recognition of their status vis-à-vis one another was more than sufficient to term them a married couple. Sato had quickly apologized for the perceived slight then explained that they hadn't planned the pregnancy that it had been the result of their profound affection for one another, thus the result of love. T'Pol found she could not contest this assertion, and acceded through her silence and the briefest nod.
Looking over her shoulder for the briefest moment she caught sight of the immutable trio of Mayweather, Reed, and Sato sitting at their traditional and inviolable table. Travis gave a brief nod in her direction which was mimicked by Hoshi and Malcolm, she turned back upon hearing the steward turning back, with a pair of covered dishes. She had not even had the opportunity to inquire what was available for Trip, clearly the triumvirate of junior bridge officers had anticipated this eventuality and had contacted the chef ahead of time to make concessions for the returning hero. It was one capacity in humans she constantly marveled at, their limitless ability to empathize and the extents to which they would go to visit anonymous courtesies on one another. Hoshi rose, walking over to the drink dispenser in a manner that suggested no additional motivation. Upon reaching earshot of the Vulcan science officer she spoke in a low tone, words she knew T'Pol would hear. Rather than English she spoke in a Shi'kahran dialect that was the form of Vulcan T'Pol had grown up with.
"Go to your husband."
She made no attempt at reply, knowing that none was necessary, this had been done more for Trip's sake than hers. Their support had been proffered without solicitation or pre-condition on their part when she had experienced the trauma of the recent weeks, now it was time for commander Tucker to be attended to. Gathering the covered plates onto a tray she appropriated flat-ware, and glasses. Approaching the drink dispenser she found that Sato had already acquired the drinks for her, and with surreptitious nonchalance placed them on the tray, taking the empty glasses and turning back to the drink dispenser. Again Hoshi spoke in a barely audible Vulcan.
"He's waiting."
"Arigato gozaimasu." T'Pol replied and moved to exit when she found herself inexplicably frozen in place before the entering Captain Archer. Laden as she was she did not expect what he said next. Perhaps he saw the tray and deigned to ignore it, perhaps he had missed it entirely, or, perhaps, based on what had happened in the infirmary a short time before, he had mentally suppressed seeing it and what it implied.
"Sub-commander, will you be joining me in he captain's mess this evening?"
"I cannot at this time, I must attend to commander Tucker."
Archer's expression soured at the mention of Trip. He nodded in spite of the frown creasing his face, and T'Pol felt a twinge of concern over what strange new animus there seemed to be between the two men.
"What is the commander's condition?" He asked dryly.
"He is suffering from severe sleep deprivation, critically low blood sugar, dehydration, an infection was beginning to develop in at least one of his injuries, and he appears to be mentally exhausted. Doctor Phlox recommended he sleep for at least sixteen hours but given his pronounced hypoglycemia I believed it would be prudent for him to eat."
Archer nodded again, "I guess its good he has you to take care of him, left to his own devices he'd probably be dead by morning."
T'Pol did not attempt to suppress the expression of unvarnished horror that crossed her face. The assertion was horrible, it almost sounded like he was wishing ill on Trip, and she found the idea making her unbearably uncomfortable.
"I should go attend to him." She said in a choked voice.
Archer held up a hand, his face showing resignation and contrition over his poor choice of wording, "I didn't mean it that way T'Pol. You know how Trip is, he'd be down in engineering checking everything out if given the choice, it'd probably be another twelve hours before he got some sleep. He just doesn't seem to know when to quick. Take care of him, alright? If you need to, take tomorrow off."
"The commander should be asleep for at least the first half of my shift, I see no need in suspending my duties for the day."
"Very well, but the offer stands should something occur." Archer replied.
"Understood, if you will excuse me?"
"Carry on."
T'Pol exited the galley and began to head for her quarters, feeling a profound sense of disquiet over the encounter. She began to ponder what ill will the captain seemed to suddenly possess for the chief engineer and was his safety now at jeopardy? She tried to stuff the thoughts away as she made her way to the turbolift, she knew he had sensed her discomfort and was carefully probing along the edges of her mental processes trying to determine what had happened. When she entered her quarters she heard that he was still in the shower and took the opportunity to begin a sub-meditative calming exercise. It was a series of rhetorical exercises, mathematical equations, a recitation of physical constants. If Trip's mental state began to degrade, if the emotions he was suppressing began to well up, she would need every modicum of her focus to help him through it. Ideally she should have meditated for several hours before his return to make sure she had thoroughly divested herself of residual emotion.
When she opened her eyes he was before her, naked save for the towel around his waist. She looked up into his eyes, pupils dilated and breathing heavy, she could feel the strange softened and muted sense of desire radiating from him. He pressed into her body, hands grasping her shoulders. She tossed Phlox's order that they abstain from any sexual activity out unceremoniously and began grasping onto the threads of desire, letting them begin to ignite her own want. Her hands came up to stroke along his upper arm, feeling the reassuring and beguiling sensation and texture of thick muscle under the skin. She surrendered easily when he began lowering her to the floor and instinctively parted her legs so that he could lay between them as he began what she was sure would be the usual foreplay; illogical, a waste of time, an unnecessary waste of energy...and so completely delightful.
The touch she expected never came, instead his fingers softly traced across her face and he planted soft kisses on her lips and cheeks. It was not the usual pre-sex ritual, but she found it strangely gratifying none-the-less. It continued on, his hands never grasping purposefully, the petting gentle and affectionate, and while she felt an overwhelming desire coming from him, it was unique, a specific want she had never felt from him before, it was unlike and conscious or unconscious desire he had ever projected. Unable to resist her own curiosity and the want that seemed to radiate from between her legs, in her chest, and at the back of her mind at the same time, she finally prompted.
"Did you wish to engage in sexual intimacy, K'diwa?"
He didn't reply as such, just made a small huffing sound that sounded like a negative as his thumb caressed her chin, and she finally understood. He longed for her, without a doubt, but it was something much more emotional and complex than even the deepest sexual need. "Can I just touch you like this for a while."
"Of course." T'Pol replied softly as the gentle petting from her mate continued.
[! - Author's Note- !]
With the final ending release from Mass Effect 3 finally going live and vindicating the hell out those of us who scoffed at the "its indoctrination" YouTube undergrad $0.02 psychologists who wouldn't recognize PTSD if it was accosting them with a grout saw and mortar trowel, I will be taking a short break from this story to continue The Cassandra's Dilemma: Book Two. I should alternate just about every other chapter. Expect the next chapter in Infinite Diversities: Book One in early mid July.