A/N: This is a repost of an old fic—one that I've heavily rewritten to bring up to my current abilities. This is a sequel to Goh Veh, and while not required, I strongly recommend that you read it first before embarking on this tale.
This is canon compliant and takes place during the events of "In a Mirror Darkly Part 2." That said, I do not accept "These Are the Voyages" as canon, so keep that in mind for the brief references to the RU.
Sa'akh means "debt."
And for a bit of fun: my theme song for this version of our favorite couple is "Bloodsport" by Raleigh Ritchie.
SA'AKH
Trip discovered the files by accident. The few minutes it took him to figure out how to crack the computer in the chief engineer's office on the Defiant felt like a damn eternity. He needed schematics, notes, anything to help him make the ship sing before Archer's twelve-hour ultimatum was up. That the commander—no, captain—was currently leading the team hunting down a saboteur didn't make a lick of difference for Trip's timetable.
He found the information he wanted. Once he got past the initial security, it was embarrassingly easy, not a single file locked or encrypted. What the hell kind of place was this other universe? Curiosity got the better of him despite the ticking clock, and he lowered himself in the chair. He perused a couple of his predecessor's logs, but they were dry reports—similar to the records he kept for the sake of saving his own skin.
He frowned when he realized that the terminal had access to the ship's entire database. Did chief engineers have a higher clearance wherever this starship hailed from? He licked his lips, hesitating a beat before calling up general information about Terra. When the screen instantly displayed a brief history of the planet he'd been born on—without any alarms or a request for authorization—he let out a breath. The government of Earth had apparently led the charge to form something called the United Coalition of Planets which later turned into the Federation. There was no Terran Empire, no slaves.
Trip sat back, whistling softly. Humans and aliens working together as equals ? He had trouble imagining it. Or the notion that Starfleet's main purpose was exploration and scientific study. What would that be like? It struck him that maybe he did know—or a version of him, at least. Leaning forward, he did a search for his name, heart pounding thick in his chest when the result came up in the next blink.
His face stared back at him from the screen, unmarred and lighter hair carefully combed to what Trip assumed was regulation. The uniform was eerily similar to his, missing the leather strap across the chest and the Empire's emblem. The other man's smile reached his eyes, like he didn't have a care in the world, like he was actually happy. Trip couldn't remember feeling that way, not even before the incident that left him scarred.
He read through the personnel file, unnerved that he and his counterpart had so much in common. The grinning idiot even had the same goddamn nickname. The other Trip had been the chief engineer of the USS Enterprise, the first Warp 5 vessel of Starfleet. He'd written the book on modern warp technology, and after a war with some species called the Romulans, he headed up the research facility at Jupitor, dividing his time between there and the new Starfleet Academy. Trip was starting to hate the bastard as he scrolled through the record. Why'd he get such a fairy tale existence when Trip was surviving each day by the skin of his teeth?
The next few lines turned the air in his lungs to ice. No, that couldn't be right. He quickly did a search for another crew member, shock giving away to anger as his suspicions were confirmed. Another search stoked the flame to full-blown outrage.
Son of a bitch.
Someone owed him answers. She owed him a hell of a lot more than that.
"Archer to Tucker!"
Trip started at the voice, irrationally worried for a second that he'd been caught snooping where he shouldn't. Bet that other Trip wasn't constantly on edge all the time. Must have been nice.
He activated the comm. "Tucker here."
"The Gorn has been dealt with. Get my warp engines online!"
"Aye, sir!"
Trip picked up a PADD and quickly copied the files he needed. His hand hovered over the terminal for a protracted breath as he made a decision. He entered a command that could have his head on the chopping block.
She'd pay for that, too.
T'Pol stiffened when she crossed the threshold to her new, overly lavish quarters on the stolen Defiant. She searched the dark room, unsure at first what had given her pause. And then she inexplicably knew.
He was there, waiting quietly in the shadows.
She was certain of it, though how? Perhaps her superior Vulcan ears had picked up on his soft breathing. Yes, that was it. There could be no other explanation.
You're gonna regret what you did.
A chill whispered down her spine as she recalled the threat Commander Tucker breathed out—the last thing he'd said to her that wasn't strictly related to their duties. Gone were the leers, the casual overtures delivered with a wink. She'd inadvertently found a way to end what he called "their special game," though that hadn't pleased her as she expected.
His presence now was nearly tangible with anger, with malice, no longer veiled by the cold indifference he'd displayed toward her recently. No, she did not know his emotional state. She couldn't. She was merely drawing logical conclusions based on her understanding of his character and the anticipation of the reckoning he'd promised.
If he had come for vengeance, he would not find a docile victim in her. She could not allow him to kill her, not when she was so close to setting plans in motion to save her people. She could not kill him either. Her standing with Archer was exceedingly tenuous after she'd helped to thwart his ill-fated coup; taking out his chief engineer would likely tip the balance against her.
She chose not to consider that she couldn't kill Commander Tucker for other reasons. Such reasons could not exist.
Light flooded her quarters when she tapped the control panel by the door, and her suspicion was confirmed. Tucker stood, leaning against the bulkhead opposite her, arms folded across his chest. A tightness in the corner of his unblemished eye was the only indication of emotion in his otherwise placid expression. It was a mask, hiding a fury that he would, undoubtedly, unleash on her.
She steeled herself for the explosion, but when a second ticked by, then another with nothing from him, she felt compelled to broach the silence. "Commander Tucker."
"Hello, T'Pol," he replied in an equally cool voice. "Been busy?"
Her brows twitched downward at the inane question. Why did he not attack? This "small talk" was pointless. "We have all been busy."
His lip curled in a sneer, and her heart rate rose marginally. Finally.
"I'll bet you have," he said. "Why don't you have a seat?" He nodded toward the desk in the center of her room.
She didn't move. There was something unsettling in the undercurrent of his words, as though they were weighted with more than her earlier betrayal of him. Did he know? Did he suspect her clandestine meeting with Soval?
"No really, I insist," Trip commanded. He glared at her, daring her to fight him, to give him the opening he must be hoping for.
She held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated despite the disquiet swelling in her chest. But perhaps it would be useful to play along with this new game—temporarily. She may yet discover a way for them both to survive this encounter while still fulfilling his clear need for retribution. The sooner he was appeased, the sooner she could return to more important matters.
She took slow, measured steps toward the desk, chin tipped up, eyes on his. She would not be cowed by him. That was the only acceptable strategy when dealing with humans.
Once she took her seat, he walked over and pulled out the chair opposite her. Her gaze went to a PADD in his hand, one she hadn't noticed before. A tiny bubble of trepidation disturbed the surface of her calm veneer. What were its contents?
"Since things have settled a bit," he said, setting the device on the desk, "I thought that you and me would have a little chat." He'd reined in his anger again, face nearly blank when she looked up at him.
"A chat about what?" She kept her tone steady.
"Oh, there are a lot of things we need to discuss." He leaned back in his chair, projecting a casual air. The effect fell short, though, in the rigidness of his movement, the tautness across his shoulders. "Maybe we ought to start with your debt to me."
"What debt do I owe you?" She knew, of course, but admitting such meant admitting that she was beholden to him. Unacceptable.
Trip's features reddenned, twisting with the rage he'd been hiding. He slammed a fist against the metal table, and for a tremulous beat, T'Pol expected him to lay hands on her next. She braced herself for it, but it didn't come. In the very next breath, he schooled his expression to passivity, as if the violent outburst hadn't happened in the first place. His swift mastery of emotions could almost make a Vulcan envious.
It was disturbing.
He inhaled a languid breath, gaze drilling into her. "What debt? Well, let me remind you, darlin'." He held up a finger. "First, I saved her life two years ago."
"You received sufficient repayment for that, I believe," she interjected, annoyed that he would call giving him what he'd wanted a debt she owed him. "It was incidental. Any male within my reach would have been adequate."
"I did it!" he barked, and she flinched. Again, he drew the rage inward behind an illusion of calm. "You came to me, remember? Or maybe you don't. Maybe you don't remember telling me that I was the only one. Trust me, sweetheart, I've been paying for it ever since—every day."
She blinked. She didn't recall saying those words to him. Her memories of that night were tangled, disjointed, tainted by the staggering hunger that consumed her. There was an honesty in his tone, in his eyes, tired and haunted, though. What had cost him so greatly from that experience? It couldn't be more than he—a human—deserved.
"Not going to argue? Good." The muscles in his jaw twitched. "Now, there's also the matter of invading my mind, forcing me to sabotage the ship and wiping my memory. That gave me a nice little trip to the agony booth. Personally, I think that last part means you owe me a few extra favors, princess."
She didn't bother to reply to the accusation. Yes, her actions had had significant consequences for him, but she had done what duty required. Whatever aberrant prick of regret she felt over the incident was immaterial. The needs of the many were too vital, regardless if he had been the "need of the one."
"You're starting to catch my drift," he said, mistaking her silence as agreement. He fingered the PADD, and her gaze followed the movement. "But that's not everything, is it? You're still roaming the ship, free as a bird. Why is that, T'Pol?"
Foreboding made a sickly stir in her middle. Would he reveal that he had knowledge of her recent dealings? "I don't understand."
He grinned at her, and it was a dark, unpleasant thing. "Really? I'm surprised it never occured to you that I might've had listening devices all over Main Engineering on Enterprise." He leaned forward. "What if I told you that I have a recording of you bragging about what you did to me—one that made it to the Defiant with me? I wonder if Archer knows exactly what you're capable of. Do you think he'll still trust you if he does?"
He wasn't speaking of her meeting with Soval, then. Relief loosened the muscles in her neck, but it was short lived. This problem wasn't as dire, but the potential repercussions could mean her demise just as easily. She well understood Archer's volatile nature, noticed his increasing paranoia. "Why haven't you given it to him?"
"Because it's kinda difficult to collect a debt from a dead woman," Tucker answered. "Don't think for a second I don't have contingencies set up. You try to take me down, you'll only be condemning yourself."
He wasn't bluffing. It was a second before she could explain how she knew this with such unwavering confidence. Such brash artifice wasn't in his nature; he called himself a "straight shooter." His willingness to be alone with her was further evidence. As far as he knew, she could simply reach across the table and assail his mind again. But he didn't fear it, didn't fear her.
"You're free because of me. That's somethin' else you owe me, T'Pol. The tally is gettin' pretty damn high." He picked up the PADD, and she glanced at it.
"So it would seem." She quelled the filament of alarm threading beneath her skin. Death was not the revenge he sought, she was certain. This sounded more like the groundwork for blackmail, but what would be the price?
"Are we bonded?"
Her gaze snapped to his with shock. How could he know of bonds? They were the last secret of Vulcan society. When she started to deny the existence of this sacred connection between mates among her people, Trip held up a finger, ticking it back and forth.
"Don't," he warned. "I read about it in the ship's database."
She struggled to keep the horror from rounding her eyes, drawing a line across her mouth. Her future was not the only one he held hostage with this intelligence.
"Don't worry." The corner of his mouth curved up, but the expression was far from reassuring. "Seeing how I'd never heard of it before… Well, I figured that Vulcans aren't too keen on the Empire knowing about it. No one else has accessed those files. I deleted them." He gave her a meaningful look. Another debt. "Are we bonded?"
"Humans are not telepathic. It's impossible." It was.
He shook his head and shoved the PADD toward her. "Not true. Take a look."
She activated it, the screen winking on with a split display. On the left was a photo of Tucker without his disfiguring scar. Next to it was a photo of herself, only with much shorter hair. She drew her brows together in confusion until she scanned the information beneath the images. These were the personnel files of T'Pol and Tucker from the other universe. The records were mainly of their respective careers, but two facts made her middle twist. They had married each other, and they were bonded.
No. It wasn't possible. She set the PADD down. "They are not us."
"They are us!" Tucker yelled. "That's T'Pol, Science Officer!" He pointed at the device. "That's Charles Tucker the third, Chief Engineer! That's you and me! Same people, different set of circumstances!"
Why was this important to him? It was true that her own cursory study of this other universe had given her the courage to hope for her people, but there was no significance in what he was showing her.
"Why?" His growled question drew her gaze back to him. "Why did you come to me during your Pon'Farr and tell me that I was the only one who could help you? Why can't I kill you for what you've done to me, even though you deserve it a thousand times over? Why, T'Pol? Why!? "
"I don't know." She disliked how timid her voice sounded, that it revealed how unsettled he'd made her with these questions.
"Are we bonded?" he asked again. When she balked, he spoke over her. "I know how it happens. Answer me!"
She wanted to reject the idea, but his demand startled memories that she'd previously dismissed as illogical. The times she sensed his presence before he appeared. When she strangely knew his mood, even when they weren't in proximity with one another. Had the unthinkable happened? Had she bound them together in ignorance? The ramifications shook her to her core.
"I don't know," she answered quietly, honestly. She didn't want to know.
He let out a bitter laugh. "Well, that's just rich. You've dug yourself a deep hole. How are you gonna get out of it?"
"What do you want from me?" she asked, hoping they had finally reached the end of his grievances. She hoped that her other plans remained unknown to him.
"That's a good question, darlin'." He searched her with his pale eyes as though considering his options. "It's gonna take you a while to pay me back."
He stood, stepping around the desk. He held out a hand in expectation, and it was a moment before she took it. Cool hands. She pushed the flicker of memory away as he pulled her from her chair. He brushed the hair from her face, and she stifled another image, that of his unexpected tenderness after their coupling years ago. She would not let herself be compromised by him.
"I know I shouldn't even come close to you after you melded with me," he murmured. Rage flashed across his face. "The idea that you could invade my mind like that…"
She couldn't. Not anymore. It had been difficult to do in the first place, though at the time, she hadn't an adequate reason for the struggle—for the innate reticence to cause him harm. But a bond would explain much. It would also put her in grave danger.
But she would give him a partial truth as a deflection, to keep him from digging deeper for things she needed to remain hidden. "I wouldn't—"
"You did!" he snapped. "You did and you threw it in my face!"
She didn't argue. Why should she? Yes, she had confessed her subterfuge to him. It had been a desperate gambit to prove he held no power over her. But that had been a lie, hadn't it?
He blew out a sigh. "I really ought to throw your ass out the airlock—or let Archer do it." The statement lacked bite. He drew a line across her jaw, a familiar tingle following in the wake of his touch. "It wouldn't be enough to cover your debts, though." He tipped her chin up, fixing her with his gaze. "Don't betray me again. I won't forgive you and I won't save your ass, either."
She could offer no such promises to him. Her cause was greater than this puzzling connection between them. They were not mated, not truly, even if they shared a fledgling bond. Her obligation was to her species, not to him.
"Your price?" she asked.
"To start with, this."
He bent forward, pressing his lips against hers. In the next beat, one of his hands knotted in her hair, tilting it so he could deepen the kiss. His other hand curled at her hip, drawing her closer to him. Long-dormant physical need stretched awake inside of her.
Why? His question echoed in her mind. Why him ?
He broke off the kiss, wearing his customary leer. "I believe you owe me—what did you call it? A sexual encounter."
She smothered the sudden pleasure at knowing his attraction to her had not been destroyed.
Hand still on her hip, he stepped forward, forcing her to retreat. He took another step, and again she retreated. Another and another, and then the back of her legs bumped against her bunk.
"I'm taking your first payment right now," he said, and electric desire crackled through her veins, scorching her bones and sinew.
He didn't wait for her reply, but slanted his mouth over hers again, breathing salacious intention against her lips. She answered in kind, fingers gripping the hem of his borrowed uniform, pulling it up until she could touch his smooth flesh.
Cool hands. Blue eyes.
How? How was he able to enthrall her with nothing more than his lips on hers?
Are we bonded?
She needed to regain control, but each attempt to stay the inferno brewing between them was flimsy, like trying to stop a sandfire storm by will alone. Impossible.
She removed his shirt, he yanked her dress over her head, and then she was lost to the way his hard lines fit against her soft curves as he lifted her onto her bunk. This was instinct. A primal code written into the strands of her DNA, in his.
Hers.
Perhaps she could find a way to ensure his safety when her plans came to fruition. Yes, this human she would keep alive. She would make him her slave as he had made her his.
Trip left her quarters shortly before his next duty shift. He didn't trust her, of course. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He would, however, gladly take every payment she was willing to make. For years, if necessary. Maybe next time he'd make her say it, make her confess that she was his—the way he'd wanted to two years ago.
This was dangerous, this new game he was playing with her. And that bond? It was a damn problem. The information in the database said that physical intimacy would strengthen the thing. Avoiding that wasn't an option he was willing to entertain, though. He'd just have to study the files he'd downloaded for an angle he could use to his advantage.
He glanced at the PADD at his hand, recalling the other tidbits he'd copied from the database. He didn't like knowing what he would have been able to accomplish if he hadn't been stuck in this shitty environment—where too much of his time and energy was dedicated each day to making sure he lived to see the next. The other Trip was not just a genius engineer, but a goddamn hero. He helped save Earth from total annihilation and stopped a war between Vulcan and Andoria. The man didn't have an ugly scar on the side of his face, either.
The only advantage Trip had over his counterpart was Lizzie. He still had his baby sister.
But god, what would it be like to turn his back and know that someone wouldn't stick a knife in it?
Then there was the matter of other Tucker's relationship with the other T'Pol. Marriage? With children? That was a man who actually trusted the woman he shared a bed with. The idea was completely foreign. Even his parents had their schemes and games. Love was a weakness. The hell if Trip would ever let himself be the victim of it.
Not with T'Pol. Not after what she'd done to him.
He barked at a couple of crewmen loitering in the corridor, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when they shot off in opposite directions. There. He wasn't completely useless. In fact, he'd like to see the pampered other Tucker live in this universe. Trip bet the man wouldn't survive one hour.
He tossed the PADD on his desk when he reached his quarters. There was no use in getting all worked up over a life he'd never had and never would. Maybe he'd find a way to make a name for himself, get a statue erected of him at some state park. He was the chief engineer of the greatest ship of the Empire, after all.
Until then, he'd make the most of what he did have going for him, not the least of which was a petite Vulcan in his debt. The possibilities for extortion were endless.
He licked his lips in anticipation.
Hours later, Trip ground his teeth as Mayweather and his team stalked through Main Engineering, rounding up every subhuman. Archer was transferring the aliens off of the Defiant—all except for Phlox. That meant T'Pol would be gone, and there wasn't a damn thing Trip could do about it.
He stormed to his office. After the door slid shut, he let out a string of curses, swiped the stacks of PADDs off of his desk. He wanted to march up to the bridge, to stick a knife in Archer.
But blatant insubordination meant death for him, too.
Son of a bitch. Son of a goddamn bitch.
~FIN~
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! There was one more story in this series, a multi-chaptered fic that I had completed the first two chapters of: "Dah'es". Unfortunately, it was one of the few fics that I've lost forever due to a hard drive crash. (Yes, I've already tried the Wayback Machine. Sadly no luck.) One day I might rouse up enough desire to attempt a rewrite.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story, if you're willing to share them! XD