SPOILERS: "Bounty"

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Bounty" was written by Hans Tobeason, Mike Sussman and Phyllis Strong from a story by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It has always really bugged me that Phlox didn't give T'Pol a straight answer to her question, and I took off from there, though I'm not sure there's any way to deal with this episode that isn't going to be a little bit icky. Many thanks to beta jT, whose issues with the first draft pushed me into a much more satisfying version.

Additional note: "The Expanse" is not coming easy, so I've decided to go into hiatus and leave that last one undone for now. But I will be back to finish that episode at some point before the summer is out and I'm looking forward to delving into the third season eventually. For now, I've got rooms to paint, paths to build, and a real novel to revise. And thanks so much, reviewers. Your generosity in letting me know you enjoyed it - and your constructive feedback - is what has made doing this this a real pleasure.

It was absolutely maddening that a Denobulan's discomfort with discussing certain topics was even greater than a Vulcan's discomfort in discussing certain topics. How could Phlox not tell her? She'd asked more than once, as tactfully as she could, and she really didn't think it was asking too much to let a woman know if she'd engaged in sexual intercourse with the ship's physician.

Once released from decon, she'd gone to her room and tried to determine the answer for herself, but failed. How did one know these things, for certain? Phlox was the one who knew how to determine such matters, not her.

Even now, hours later, a low hum of nervous adrenaline was coursing through her body, making her restless and anxious. Phlox had ordered 24 hours of bed rest in her quarters. But she didn't need bed rest. What she needed was an answer.

She should meditate. Instead, she paced back and forth.

She was the ship's executive officer. She could access certain records. And every crewman could access his or her own medical records. But what were the chances that Phlox would actually have made note of such an event, if it had occurred?

She took a steadying breath and tried to focus. She really should meditate. It was what every Vulcan since Surak would advise her to do right now. So she lit a candle and starred doggedly at it, rocking slightly in her meditation pose, willing herself into her white space.

Nothing happened. The candle wick sputtered and burned. Wax pooled. She could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.

The door buzzed.

She got up eagerly. If it was Phlox…

But it was Commander Tucker. His eyes met hers and then slid away. "Hey. I hope I didn't wake you. How are ya feeling?"

Why was he here? "I'm fine."

"I'm real sorry to interrupt, but Malcolm and I have had kind of a delicate situation to deal with. And I thought you might want to be aware of it, since it concerns you."

She stared at him. "Come in," she said. Did this mean Reed and Tucker knew what had happened? Did Archer know too? Was she perhaps the only one on the ship who DIDN'T know? "I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about."

"Phlox said you might not remember."

"I know I was … somewhat discomposed by illness," she said. "But I have very little memory of actual events." She knew it was the pon farr, of course - but she was hardly going to admit that to Tucker. She distinctly remembered fingering Phlox's distinctive spinal folds, and feeling very hot and uncomfortable. She remembered Tucker's face in a window. It seemed to her there was also something about EV suits. But mostly it was all inchoate sensations of hunger, frustration, fury, desperation, and desire. Especially desire. It seemed she felt dull echoes of it even now, for she was suddenly conscious of Commander Tucker, a man, standing in enticingly close proximity.

She crossed her arms over her chest and backed away, embarrassed.

Tucker looked as embarrassed as she felt. "Well. As you know, whenever anyone on board discharges a weapon, a full incident report has to be filed. So, you see…" He raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Yes?"

"You really don't remember any of it?"

She felt a cold chill. "Did I shoot someone?"

"No, you got shot – stunned, I mean. By security. After you broke out of decon."

She felt her knees weaken just slightly. That explained the EV suits.

"Maybe you'd better sit down," Tucker said, reaching out an arm and guiding her to her bed.

She sank down onto the edge of the mattress, curling in on herself. To her great relief, he sat down next to her. His failure to maintain eye contact was unnerving. "How many people saw me?" she asked.

"Just three, besides Dr. Phlox. And they all knew you were ill. It was pretty obvious you were not yourself. You don't need to worry. They all know it was a health matter and very, very private."

Three. Four, with Phlox. Five, with Tucker. She felt a little nauseated. It would be all over the ship by now. "The captain?"

"Cap'n Archer doesn't know any details. We just told him you got sick and … a little irrational. The thing is, though, this whole thing went down in the corridors, which means there's security footage..."

Of course. That might at least answer her question. "I'd like to see it."

"That might not be such a good idea," Tucker said quickly. "You really weren't yourself. Normally those recordings would be appended to the incident report, but in this case, since it has to do with a confidential medical situation, we'll want to forego that. But even putting in a note to that effect kind of raises questions, too, so…" He took a breath. "Malcolm and I think it would be best if we just kind of … had a technical difficulty. You know, lost the recording. So really, I just came here because I wanted to let you know that. So you don't need to worry that someone might see it someday."

"But what if I want to see it?"

Now he got up and put some distance between them. T'Pol felt a spike of sheer dread. What had she done? "You obviously weren't yourself," he said.

"Have you seen it?"

His face had turned a little red. "No. Malcolm gave me a pretty full report, though."

She stared down at her tightly-clasped hands. "Commander Tucker. If you had a large block of time missing from your memory and no one was willing to tell you what you did during it, wouldn't you want to know?"

He sighed and dug out a padd, which he handed her. "I had a feeling you might feel that way. When you're done, take that chip out and throw it in solid waste recycling. Problem solved."

"One problem."

He looked alarmed. "You got another one?"

"There are recordings of the decon chamber too, aren't there?"

"Those are medical records," Tucker said. "They're kept totally private. You've got nothing to worry about."

"But I want to see them. I need to see them."

"You'd have to ask Phlox."

"Phlox refuses to help me."

Tucker made a face. "T'Pol. Even if I did know how to breach those protocols, I could get into some pretty serious trouble…."

"If you do it from my quarters, it would be indistinguishable from me accessing my own records. That would hardly be a court-martial offense."

"What's the point? You won't be able to destroy them. They're backed up automatically and nobody but Starfleet Medical has access to that server."

"I don't have to destroy them. I just want to know what happened. Phlox won't tell me. It is extremely frustrating... and illogical! Anyone in my situation would have a reasonable desire to know …" She lowered her voice. "What happened."

He sighed. "Well, I saw you for a few moments in there. You ate some food with your hands like it was going out of style. But that's all I noticed." Once again, he looked away uncomfortably.

She noticed his new distance with something akin to panic. Not again. Not now. She had an almost overwhelming impulse to do whatever it took – call him "Trip" – shake his shoulders – anything to make him acknowledge her. Instead, she just sat there on the edge of the bed, wrestling as best she could against such inappropriate impulses.

In her silence, Tucker gave in. "I had a feeling I should just leave this alone," he muttered, and sat down at her monitor, frowning. As she watched, he quickly worked his way into the main computer's operating system, and then started tracing his way through a series of virtual back doors. Apparently he was quite skilled at this.

Finally, he grunted and pointed his finger. "Okay, here it is. Decon. Yesterday through today. I haven't seen these and frankly I don't want to see them, so I'm out of here." He got up quickly, and headed for the door.

"Commander."

He turned around.

"Thank you. I appreciate your help and your … discretion."

He nodded a little grimly and left and once again she had to fight down a sense of panic. What if everything had changed?

Well. At least she would know why, if she watched the files.

And so she sat down at her monitor and watched intently as the early discomfort she vaguely remembered gave way to horrifying displays she could not remember at all. Poor Phlox had been very hard put to keep her at bay.

It was humiliating to see herself so out of control. And yet it was also oddly fascinating. T'Pol had never much thought of herself as a sexual being before, but there she was, wantonly pursuing satisfaction, even clumsily attempting seduction. To her great relief, it appeared that that she did not need to be concerned about an actual liaison with the ship's physician. She was glad she apparently hadn't seriously injured him, either. Relieved, she closed the files. As long as Phlox and Starfleet Medical were discreet – and no one as capable of Tucker went hacking into them – her behavior in decon would remain safely hidden.

She moved on to the recording Tucker had given her on the padd. There she was, running through the corridors in her underwear. Worse, she'd called Reed Malcolm and made reference to his interest in her, then all but attempted to climb into his suit. He looked disgusted, as well he might. She wondered how he would look at her from across the bridge now. It probably wouldn't help that she'd managed to throw him across the corridor.

Had he told Tucker everything? Was that the reason for his new distance? And would this be because she'd pursued Lieutenant Reed? Or because she'd proven so violent? Or both? No doubt he would be even more skeptical of her logic now.

Indeed, she felt skeptical of it herself. She would not have believed that somewhere inside her a creature that ravenous waited for release. If all Vulcans were like this, perhaps it was no wonder they were so rigidly in control the rest of the time. Perhaps a certain degree of formalized hypocrisy was inevitable when the veneer of civility was going to be ripped away from you at regular intervals, as if to mock you for all your hard-won logic.

She took the chip out of the padd and stared at it. She would take it to solid waste recycling herself, when she could leave her quarters. She wanted to know for certain that it had dissolved into a vat of acid.

She went back to her bed and leaned down, smelling the spot on the bed where Tucker had sat. She wished he had not left, even though she was also relieved that he had. She pulled the bedcover up and hugged it to herself. Her pulse was still thudding. Attempting meditation again would be pointless – and so was speculating about how widespread her behavior would become known. It was a small ship. Word would get out. Obviously, T'Pol of Vulcan had found yet another way in which to become notorious.

But perhaps she was getting used to that.

Because yes, she was embarrassed, humiliated, appalled, horrified.

But, in truth, she was also just a bit … excited.