Shran's Perspective:
Blasted pinkskins, he saved their Captain and then what do they do? They lock him in a room and call it guest quarters.
The minute his immediate medical needs had been dealt with they tossed him in here and stationed a guard outside.
But as much as his anger sat with the humans, he couldn't in all honesty blame these people. Their Captain had been taken and brutally tortured by his crew, if their roles were reversed Shran was positive Tucker would be meeting a fate far worse than simple confinement.
And Tarah, Shran's fists clenched at the mere thought of the traitor. Her arrogance had cost her the prisoner, and now it would cost her life.
The second his crew heard he was well and very much alive, she would probably be shot on the spot. His face split into a feral grin, part of him hoping Tarah would still be clinging to the filth she called a life when he arrived. He wanted to see the look of horror, frozen on her face as she died.
Tucker's Perspective:
It was kinda fuzzy, his memory that is. There was something about heat, and- and an explosion? No, no that wasn't it. Well there had to be some explanation for-, whatever was happening.
Trip gazed into the ceiling of sickbay, his blank eyes unresponsive, be it to the chirps of Phlox's creatures, or the unfocused thoughts drifting through his mind.
Everything was white, the ceiling, the bed, even the curtains separating him from the rest of the ship.
So he lay in silence, the numerous drugs pumping through his system not helping as he struggled to contemplate what had landed him in sickbay.
Suddenly a figure slipped through the curtain, it's short hair and pointy ears making her easy to identify, even in his current state.
His head turned to look at her, a dumb grin plastered widely over its contents. He knew T'pol, she was nice, a friend. Trip's glazed eyes followed her as she moved to kneel by his bedside.
A giggle worked its way past his mouth, was she gonna read him a story?
A Vulcan bedtime story? This time it was a fit of giggles, he wanted to say something, but the words couldn't seem to formulate in his mouth, let alone his brain.
She was reaching her hand forwards, now that was weird, he thought. Vulcans don't like to be touched, right?
As her fingers connected with the side of his face a jolt of energy seemed to flow through him, rapturing his attention on the sensation.
Was it coming from T'pol's hand?
"My mind, to your mind, My thoughts, to your thoughts."
Trip listened to the mesmerizing words, each one captivating his mind in its childlike state. His eyes were wide as he stared straight ahead, directly at the ceiling, at the spotless white surface.
"Our minds are merging, our minds are one"…