THE THORN AND THE ROSE

By DinahD

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.

Author's note: I want to extend my sincere thanks to my beta, the one and only Distracted.

There are two chapters left to be posted. I would like to thank everyone who has read my story so far. And a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review it.

CHAPTER 29: TRIP

Trip, the Intrepid arrived safely at 20:47 along with Enterprise and the Yarhala. The journey was without incident. Captain Archer sends his regards and wishes you a speedy recovery. I have gone to inform Torok and Soval that all is well. I know that you will be upset that I did not wake you, but you needed to sleep.

Trip glanced at the message one more time then tossed the padd back on the shuttlepod bench where he'd found it a few moments ago when he'd awakened. While he appreciated the fact that T'Pol had dimmed the lights and covered him with a blanket before she left, he would have preferred to awaken with her there beside him.

Yawning, he stretched half-heartedly and then slumped back against the side of the shuttlepod. He felt like crap. Instead of being restorative, his nap had dulled his senses, leaving him feeling listless and lethargic.

Trip looked around and, noticing that T'Pol had left a water pouch out for him, reached over and picked it up. He popped open the top and took a drink, sloshing the water around in his mouth before swallowing it. His headache was back, but so far the pain was manageable. That was just as well since it was too soon to use the hypospray that the doctor had given him. He took another drink, then capped the pouch and tossed it over on the bench next to the padd.

He knew he ought to get up and do something, but his body simply refused to move. Though he fought against it, his head still buzzed with the fragmented images of long-repressed memories. His eyes strayed to the front viewport. While he'd slept, night had fallen. Somehow that seemed fitting. Ghosts were always more comfortable in the dark.

Exhausted, Trip lay back down on the shuttlepod bench, plopping his left forearm across his brow. Here he was in the middle of an intergalactic crisis and was he on his ship ready to lend a hand? No. Instead of being an active participant, he was cooped up in a Vulcan religious sanctuary, of all places, waiting for news. The sorry truth, though, was that he was too burned out to really give a damn.

After leaving Torok and Soval earlier in the day, he and T'Pol had checked in with Enterprise. Captain Archer had quickly briefed them on the situation and then signed off. There had been no assignments, no problems to solve. At a loss to know what to do with themselves, the two commanders had simply stared at one another. Finally, T'Pol had suggested that it might be a good time to talk.

The subjects had been many and varied; however, the salient feature had been their commitment to be completely open and honest with one another. T'Pol had started the ball rolling by telling Trip about her father and the close relationship she'd shared with him. That had lead to a sometimes halting explanation of how the uneasy relationship with her mother had evolved. At Trip's urging, she'd explained some important aspects of Vulcan culture and even taught him a couple of Vulcan phrases. He could now ask for a cup of tea or the location of the nearest bathroom in two languages.

Trip had begun by telling her more about his childhood. When T'Pol asked about his recent estrangement from his parents, he'd told her the whole story, even though it had been painful for both of them. On a happier note, he'd expounded at length on the glories of Tahitian beaches, the Great Barrier Reef, and other exotic locales on Earth he wanted to share with her some day. When he began to tire, T'Pol had instructed him to lie down on the bench beside her. Cradling his head in her lap, she'd gently run her fingers through his hair while he'd told her about his early experiences with Vulcans, including his biology teacher, Mr. Velik. Finally, secure in the arms of the woman he loved, he'd drifted off to sleep.

A smile played across Trip's lips. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, savoring the memory of their conversation. Finally, after years of disappointment and false hopes, he'd allowed himself to believe that T'Pol actually wanted to be with him, not just for a few days, but for the rest of his life. Through their bond, T'Pol had instantly sensed this change in him and had reinforced it a hundredfold. Even in the best of times, they had never been so close, so completely in tune with one another. It had been all he'd ever imagined it would be.

It had been more than he deserved.

Trip's eyes popped open and he rolled restlessly over on his side, his back plastered firmly against the wall of the shuttlepod. Although those few precious hours with T'Pol had been a welcome respite from the emotional turmoil of the past couple of days, his mind refused to give him the peace he craved.

It was impossible for him to deny that the journey into his past had left him shaken and confused. He still felt like the same man, but how could he be when everything had changed? He'd completely blocked out one of the most important events of his childhood. He'd reduced his grandparents, whom he loved dearly, to nonentities. His every thought, every action from the time of the accident had been based on a self-imposed lie. That was tough to take. Instead of bedrock, he'd built his life on quicksand, and it had come damn close to destroying him.

Trip pressed one hand against his right temple as his head began to throb again. He had to pull himself together. Things weren't going to get any easier, and people were counting on him. Somehow he had to turn the quicksand into bedrock, and he had to be quick about it. The Romulans weren't going to back off just because he was under the weather.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out to T'Pol, hoping to find some solace from his mate. He could immediately sense that she knew he was awake. The tension he'd felt in her a few hours ago was gone. That could only mean that Ambassador V'Lar was safe and on her way home.

"Come to me, husband."

Even with his headache, T'Pol's message came through loud and clear.

Taking care to reassure T'Pol that he was all right, Trip took a moment to bask in the warmth of her affection before gingerly swinging his legs over the edge of the bench and sitting up. It was time to go. He knew that T'Pol was on her way to their quarters. She would be there waiting for him by the time he arrived.

As soon as Trip lifted the shuttlepod's hatch, he noticed that the temperature had dropped. A stiff breeze now swept around Mount Seleya and across the arid valley floor, occasionally kicking up the red dust into small swirling clouds.

Trip climbed out, shutting the hatch securely behind him. Looking up toward the Sanctuary, he saw flames dancing in the eight large stone urns arrayed along the sides of the main staircase. Dropping his head against a sudden gust of wind, he strode quickly across the tarmac and started up the stairs. Suddenly sharing a nice warm bed with T'Pol sounded like a pretty good idea.

When he'd climbed halfway up, Trip saw a Vulcan start down on the far side of the staircase. Since he was dressed in a black suit and russet robe similar to Torok's, Trip surmised that he was probably another priest. For an instant, the two men made eye contact before continuing on their separate ways.

"Things are looking up," Trip thought idly. "At least this guy didn't look away from me. Maybe T'Pol and I can make a life for ourselves here on Vulcan if we aren't welcome on Earth. I can be flexible. I can learn to adapt. T'Pol would probably be real…"

Without warning something slammed into Trip throwing him hard against one of the urns. Before he could recover, two strong hands grabbed him from behind and slammed him once again against the unyielding stone, sending a sharp pain through his lower rib cage. The wind whipped the flames in his direction and, instinctively, Trip recoiled, only to be felled by a blow to the back of his head.

Groggily, Trip tried to defend himself, but before he could get his body under control, he felt himself being dragged upwards. Breathing in short, pain-filled gasps, he tried to fight back, but his assailant had the upper hand. As they neared the landing, his attacker suddenly stumbled on the hem of Trip's robe. When Trip felt the iron grip loosen momentarily, he realized that this might be his last chance. Throwing an elbow hard into his assailant's midsection, Trip heard a satisfying "oof." Spinning to his left, Trip caught a glimpse of his assailant's face mere seconds before the Vulcan priest's right fist crashed into the side of Trip's head. As Trip crumpled to the ground, the only fight left in him was the struggle to remain conscious.

Before Trip could clear the fog from his brain, the priest hauled him to his feet and began to drag his unresponsive body over toward the edge of the steps. Dimly, Trip was aware of the danger he faced. There was no wall or railing along the sides of the staircase. Patchy images of the jagged rocks at the base of the mountain swam briefly through Trip's head. Slowly, he came to the realization that this wasn't just some ticked off Vulcan who didn't like humans. This guy was trying to kill him.

Gathering his remaining strength, Trip made one final attempt to fight off his attacker. For a moment he thought he had the priest off balance, but he soon found out how wrong he was when the priest threw his left arm across Trip's throat and squeezed. Desperately, Trip clawed at the arm that was cutting off his air, but it was no good.

"Prepare to die, human," a harsh voice hissed in his ear.

As the world began to dim, Trip's only thought was that he hadn't had a chance to say good-bye to T'Pol.

Suddenly, a bright light sliced through the darkness. Trip was just conscious enough to feel the priest jerk once before releasing him. Collapsing under the weight of his assailant's body, Trip tried to break his fall, but his outstretched arms found only air. For a moment his torso hung over the edge of the steps; the only thing holding him in place was the pressure of his assailant's body on his legs. Twisting slightly to the left, Trip tried to find something to grab onto, but he only succeeded in dislodging the body that held him in place. With nothing left to anchor him, he slid over the edge, head first.

For a split second, Trip experienced the sheer panic of free fall before he felt something grab his left ankle. Like a giant pendulum, his body swung back toward the staircase, smashing into the stone and bruising his shoulder.

As he hung helplessly upside down, he could feel strong fingers digging into his ankle. Overhead, he could hear voices calling his name. He wanted to answer them, to try to reassure whoever was up there that he was okay, but that took energy and right now he didn't have any of that to spare. Moments later, he felt two more hands clamp onto his leg, and he was slowly pulled upward.

Feeling a bit like a side of beef, he was hauled up and unceremoniously dumped on the steps. Once again, he felt a strong arm encircle his neck, but this time he didn't feel threatened. He knew instantly that it was T'Pol.

"Are you all right, Trip?" she asked uneasily from her place on the step beside him. Quickly, she ran one hand over the side of his face and down his chest as though she was trying to take inventory.

He tried to speak, but somehow the words just wouldn't come out. Finally, all he could manage was a simple nod of the head.

"T'Pol, we need to get him off the stairs. Doctor Marrek is on the way."

Soval was here, too, Trip noted light-headedly as he struggled to bring things into focus. By blinking his eyes a few more times, he was finally able to see T'Pol's face clearly. She was trying to maintain an unemotional facade, but he could see the look of anguish in her eyes.

"Release him, T'Pol," Soval instructed softly.

Once again Trip felt his body being lifted up, only this time the hands holding him were gentle. When he'd been deposited on the landing, Trip, with T'Pol assistance, slowly managed to pull himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. T'Pol immediately gripped his hand and held on tight. He fixed his eyes on her. With the wind whipping through her hair, she had never looked lovelier.

"It's okay, darlin'," he whispered weakly.

"Trouble seems to follow you, young man."

Reluctantly Trip tore his eyes away from T'Pol. Looking up, he saw Torok standing over him. There was an unmistakable frown on the high priest's face.

"Who grabbed my ankle?" Trip shifted uncomfortably. His body had begun to shake, and that wasn't helping the pain in his side. He was finding it difficult to take a deep breath.

"You owe your life to Major Luvan," Torok answered, motioning toward the tall, aloof man standing next to Soval. "It is fortunate that he was able to keep you from falling when Lieutenant Komas disabled your attacker."

Turning back to Torok, Trip asked, "I know I'm not real popular around here, but why would a Vulcan priest want to kill me?"

"You saw his face?" Soval asked with a trace of wariness in his voice.

"Yeah. We passed each other on the stairs. Who is he?"

"He is a stranger," Soval answered. "We do not know his identity."

"Ambassador."

Soval looked to his right in time to see Lieutenant Komas climb the top step and snap to attention.

"The assassin is dead, Ambassador."

"I thought your weapon was set on stun," Torok replied brusquely.

"It was," Komas answered without a hint of defensiveness. "The assassin took his own life. I was unable to prevent it."

Doctor Marrek, her deep blue robes flapping in the breeze, pushed past the lieutenant and went over to Trip. Kneeling down beside him, she pulled out her scanner.

Trip was so focused on the lieutenant's choice of words that he paid no attention to the doctor. "Assassin?" Trip queried, looking from Komas to Soval, and then over to Torok. "If he was an assassin, I think he needed a few more lessons. He had plenty of chances to kill me. Why'd he try to push me off the stairs?"

When no one else responded, T'Pol finally said, "I would imagine that he wanted your death to look like an accident."

"I don't buy that." Trip shook his head resolutely. "There's no way I'd accidentally fall over the edge of that staircase. For that to happen, I'd either have to be drunk or…" Trip swallowed hard. He could feel the anger beginning to build inside him. "Everybody was supposed to think that I was crazy. Is that it?" T'Pol laid a restraining hand on his arm as his body stiffened. "Just another unstable human who was so weak he committed suicide!"

"Trip, you must remain calm." T'Pol ran one hand soothingly up and down his arm.

"I'm sick of stayin' calm!" Trip wanted to jump to his feet, but the sharp pain in his ribs kept him seated.

Wrapping one arm protectively around his midsection, Trip looked belligerently at Torok. "That guy was a Vulcan priest."

"He most certainly was not."

"He was dressed just like you." Trip motioned toward Torok's robes.

"I assure you, young man, he was not a priest."

"Okay, so he's not a priest, but he was a Vulcan." Trip's breath was coming now in short, angry gasps. "Why would a Vulcan want to kill me?" When there was no reply, Trip pressed ahead, "I know you all think I'm some sort of half-wit…"

"That is not true," Torok interjected.

"…but I know a Vulcan when I see one. That guy's ears were just as pointed as…" Stunned by the thought that popped into his head, Trip abruptly snapped his mouth shut. His eyes darted from Torok to Soval. It couldn't be true.

Grimacing, Trip sat up a little straighter. It was about time for everybody to stop playing games and give him a straight answer. "He was a Romulan, wasn't he?"

"Commander Tucker, you must not jump to conclusions," Soval said tightly.

"That filthy son of a bitch was a Romulan!" Trip shouted defiantly only dimly aware that Dr. Marrek had pressed a hypospray against his neck. "Why won't you answer me? What are ya tryin' to hide?" He felt T'Pol's grip on his arm tighten as the world around him began to blur. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he was determined to get at the truth. "Was Romulan…wasn't he?" His voice was now barely above a whisper. "Pointed…ears." Trip couldn't hold back the darkness any longer. Slumping against T'Pol, he closed his eyes and let the drug transport him to a peaceful, pain-free world.

TBC