Chapter 7
AU for the middle to end of "The Forgotten"
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Trip opened the door to his quarters with a trembling hand and stumbled inside. Water dripped from his uniform, the upper half still clutched in a sodden bunch at his waist. As the door softly shut behind him, Trip steadied himself by leaning his shoulder against the side of his dented locker, panting.
God, what had he just done? He slid to the floor, pulling his knees up and burying his face in his hands.
He'd left her. At her most vulnerable. At her most open. She'd trusted him, clung to him, and he'd abandoned her.
It wasn't without cause. Terror still shot through him in streaks, little thrills of electricity-like sensation. He breathed deeply, trying to regain some balance, but the breaths were shuddered, uneven, desperate.
No, it hadn't been without cause. But that cause? Questionable.
Trip tried to marshal his thoughts. He'd woken up from a nightmare in a panic, sensed hers, and ran to her. The last twenty minutes had been a morass of heightened emotion, and they had been feeding off each other, hadn't they? His terror had sparked hers? That's why he'd run. It was just the dream. He just had to control it—
Trip groaned.
Gutless.
Coward.
Those were the only words fit to describe him right now. He gritted his teeth. Who was he kidding? He couldn't blame this on a nightmare. Squeezing his eyes closed tight, as if that might block out the vision of his own weakness, Trip felt wave after wave of remorse buffet him.
Phlox had been telling him for weeks he needed to fess up. Admit to T'Pol that this link between them existed. But no, he'd said she didn't need to know.
Trip's reasons for staying silent ticked off in his head, pounding him like punches: maybe this connection was all in his imagination. Maybe it was one-sided. He didn't want to distract her. Knowing would only make things worse for her. She had enough pressure on her right now. This complication could break her. He didn't want to get in her way.
Lies and excuses. All of them.
He'd been going through the last week worrying about supporting her, helping her, when the best way he could've done that was reveal their connection and use it for some kind of good. A human partner could console with words, hugs, pep talks, diversion. But hell, he wasn't just any human partner, was he? He had the power to literally soothe her soul, and he'd held back.
God, he felt spineless.
Trip stood on trembling legs and took a deep breath. He let his uniform fall to the floor and pulled off his underpants, leaving the soggy mess on the floor, stepping out of it.
Trudging to the bathroom, he picked up a towel and began to viciously scrub at his skin, the best self-torture he could muster at the moment, needing some kind of substitute for flagellation.
Still, the question wouldn't leave him. It echoed in his mind, T'Pol's energy suddenly very far away from him. Why had he done it, really? Why had he left her there on the shower floor, naked and vulnerable, to find her own way back to some balance? What was driving this fear?
Three times now, T'Pol had leaned on him, literally and emotionally, in her worst moments. In the captain's ready room, when they thought Archer was dead. In her quarters, after her first nightmare. In the shower just now. He'd come to her, his need to help her pushing him beyond restraint and she'd clung to him, pulling their physical selves into the closest she could get to him without sex. She'd initiated the physical, and he, at first unknowingly, then willingly, had initiated the emotional, their mind energies melding just as their bodies were.
Even with all that evidence piled in front of him, knowing now how connecting their bodies and minds had helped them both, he was still terrified. Trip covered his head with the towel, rubbing his damp hair vigorously. Within the shroud of darkness, clarity struck. His hands froze.
He loved her.
His heart raced. The thought echoed in his mind, reverberating again and again, truer and more certain every time.
How had this happened? He had been trying so hard to walk the line, to cling to the edge of attraction and friendly concern, and not topple over into what felt like an inescapable abyss. But behind his façade of caring support, need for her had taken root. He could no more excise her from his emotional heart than he could extract his physical one.
Trip had been wrong when talking to Phlox. He did know what love was; he had known for quite some time. This was it. Everywhere he turned inside himself, there she was. She had become essential, the oxygen that made continued existence possible. Supporting her—no, loving her—had become like breathing.
It made sense that abandoning her felt like suffocation.
Trip's heart pounded, pressure in his chest making it difficult to breathe, asphyxiation suddenly seeming more realistic than symbolic. He slowly pulled the towel off his head, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and his heart began to slow.
He was hers irrevocably, and she didn't even know it.
Trip sighed, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Opening his locker, he pulled out dry clothes, dressing mechanically as he let it sink in. Strange, how this knowledge fit so well, a puzzle piece suddenly discovered and clicked into place: the picture was complete.
And with her, so was he.
Love could be incredible—he knew that. But knowing this—admitting it—hadn't erased the terror that had driven him from her quarters. A relationship with anyone was a gamble, but with T'Pol? Someone so innately different from him? Someone from a different species, a different world, whose entire philosophy of life had been born from a culture so foreign to him? Handing his heart to her seemed akin to placing his life in her hands. He was wary of trusting her.
Admitting that, even to himself, brought a wave of guilt. He wasn't giving her enough credit. She had trusted him this whole time, hadn't she? She'd trusted him to take care of her in her worst moments. She'd trusted him with her secrets, with her vulnerability.
He needed to let her do the same for him.
One glaring problem remained: he'd violated her trust by keeping his mental connection with her a secret. Revealing this secret meant that he would have to admit to his emotional voyeurism.
Trip cringed. God, the mere thought of that conversation stopped him cold. That's what the fear was, he suddenly realized, even more than all the other odds stacked against them. He was terrified of losing her. Or maybe more aptly put, never actually having her at all.
He had no guarantees. His love for her did not in any way assure her love for him. Her actions and the emotions he sensed within her hinted at a depth of feeling that might match his, but she didn't have the whole story yet. Would he kill her love, just by telling her what he'd done? He could explain how he'd been trying to protect her, shelter her, support her with his silence. But those excuses were flimsy. His good intentions, blind and misguided though they were, would likely do nothing to earn her forgiveness.
And so the fear remained, clinging to his mind tenaciously. All this self-awareness did little to dislodge it. He had to find a way to get past it, to accept whatever outcome lay ahead of him. He couldn't control her, only himself.
Absorbing the fear, coming to terms with it, owning it, overcoming it: this was the only path forward. There was no way he could be a solid and trusted support for her if he couldn't. He needed to confess. He needed to apologize. And he needed to accept the consequences that would follow.
If he truly loved her, he needed to be thinking of her first, not himself.
Trip zipped up his uniform and reached for his socks, suddenly anxious to get it done.
"Archer to Tucker."
Trip started at the sound of the Captain's voice, still deep in his thoughts. He pressed the button on the comm panel.
"Tucker here, Captain."
"You and T'Pol made any headway on the database yet? I need to show the information we've gathered to Degra and the other Xindi."
Trip felt irritation flare, but he shoved it down. "We're headed there next, Captain," he lied. Truthfully, he'd shoved the ship's repairs and their Xindi guests so far into the back of his mind that he'd nearly forgotten everything but T'Pol.
"We'll meet you there in an hour," Archer said. "Think you can get it working by then?"
Trip looked at the ceiling in resignation. "Maybe. Can't make any promises. Nothin's been going as planned lately."
There was a lengthy pause. "Do your best, Trip," Archer finally said.
"Yes, sir. Tucker out."
He turned away, pulling on his boots as the door chimed. His hands froze on his laces before he resumed tying the last bow.
T'Pol stood on the other side, her back ramrod straight, eyes shuttered. "We're needed in the command center."
Trip warily searched her face. "Cap'n just called."
She turned away, striding down the corridor, Trip a few steps behind. He wanted nothing more than to grab her shoulder, push her into an empty room, and lay everything out, baring his soul. He ached to do that, but he couldn't.
The universe didn't revolve around the two of them, the last hour's events and epiphanies notwithstanding. The Xindi threatened the existence of everyone in this quadrant, and T'Pol would be the first to say that duty came before anything else.
Trip fleetingly considered stopping her in the hallway and offering a simple apology. It wouldn't help, though; his behavior required explanation, and it was too serious for a quick conversation in a public corridor on the way to solving another problem. She deserved better than that.
He studied her back, her gait swift and somewhat stiff. Even if he hadn't seen her so broken less than an hour ago, he would've known something was off with her. Strain lined her features, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him again.
They stepped inside the turbolift. T'Pol pushed the button. Trip turned his thoughts inward, searching her out. She was there, right where he'd left her.
But something was different.
At first, he couldn't put his finger on the change. She was glowing, same as before, although now a separate entity from him. She was steady, too. Not pulsing or writhing or fluttering. Just hovering near him, a steady light.
Then it struck him—she was cold. The wrong color. The amber hues of her presence, her warmth, her spirit, had turned blue-green. He pushed his energy closer to hers, trying to see what he could sense, but he couldn't get to her. It was as if a transparent wall separated them.
Trip pushed against it, and it gave slightly. Intuitively, he understood that he could, if he tried hard enough, push past it. Break through, and reach her. Force her to feel him, force her to blend her energy with his again.
The turbolift doors slid open, and T'Pol stepped out.
Trip tripped on the threshold. Force her? He held back a groan. He couldn't do that. He'd already violated her privacy enough. Rationalizing had already led him down an ethically questionable path. And this time, he knew that this transparent shield came from her. He didn't think she realized she was doing it.
She was shutting him out. Pushing him away.
Not like he didn't deserve it. He'd been an inconsiderate, selfish, cowardly ass.
He followed her into the command center. The screen was crackling with static.
"I will see if I can reset the system," T'Pol said, her tone businesslike as she took her place at the keypads in front of the large screen.
Trip watched her for a moment before forcing himself to shift his mind away from her and to the work. "I'll get into the network hub," he said, moving away from her and into the corner of the room.
Frustration ate at him, but he shoved it aside and lowered himself to the floor in front of the computer access panel.
Apologizing would have to wait. Saving humanity came first.
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An hour later, the captain's deadline arrived with very little progress made. A reboot of the system and a diagnostic had done little to actually solve the problem.
An hour of futile attempts at fixing the computer—on top of his already deep pile of unresolved personal problems—meant his impatience and frustration were at an all-time high.
The door slid open, and Archer and Degra walked in. Trip stiffened as he took in the Xindi's posture. Degra walked with his nose in the air, arms behind his back, striding in as if he owned the place.
Yeah, it was safe to say Trip's fuse was trimmed a little short.
"How is it going?" Archer asked, squatting down and peering into the access panel Trip had opened.
"Been better," Trip said flatly. "I've tried almost everything I can think of, but nothin's worked yet."
"Well, keep at it," Archer said, and stood again, heading for the door. "I'm going to check on the other Xindi—they're finishing up with Dr. Phlox."
Across the room, Degra had sidled up to T'Pol, nearly at her elbow. He stared at the static-filled screen as if it held all of humanity's secrets.
"Our database was damaged," T'Pol explained once Captain Archer had left the room, her voice neutral. "We have been attempting to reconstruct it."
Degra nodded slightly, his eyes sweeping across the equipment in front of him.
Damned nosy of him. Had Captain Archer really made friends with these guys? Seemed like Degra needed to be put back in his place.
Trip grunted as he tightened one of the loose connections. "Your ships gave us quite a poundin'," he said, a little louder than he probably should have. To T'Pol, he said, "Give it a go."
T'Pol's fingers tapped at the keys to little effect.
Trip sighed and turned back to the guts of the computer. "Maybe if I reset the optical subprocessors—" he paused. "Maybe it'll clear up."
He tapped at the display panel, resetting the processors. It would take a minute or two to work. Turning back, he studied Degra's back, then T'Pol's.
Damn it. He couldn't do anything about his rift with her. But with Degra—well, Trip had plenty he could say on that score.
He'd bet everyone on Enterprise had been mindin' their Ps and Qs so far, trying not to jeopardize this little disaster of a peace treaty they had goin' on. Somebody needed to say something, and Trip would bet his Sunday best that no one had had the guts to do it.
Well, he certainly did. He would have preferred to grab the biggest screwdriver he had and force it through Degra's jugular, but dream Lizzy's voice, begging him not to seek revenge, still reverberated through him. He knew she spoke for the real Lizzy. His little sister had had a temper, but she never would've wished for him to risk his own life and future after hers was gone.
Words were the only weapons he had left to use, and Trip was locked and loaded for bear. He could do no less for Elizabeth. For Jane. For all the others who had needlessly died at the hands of this man and his misguided actions.
Standing up from the access panel, Trip went over to the toolbox on the table, throwing the tool in his hand back into the box with a clank.
"We took a peek at that weapon you're building. Got through your detection grid with no trouble," Trip said, watching Degra's shoulders stiffen. He picked up a rag and wiped at his greasy hands. "Impressive engineering, I gotta say. A thousand ships like Enterprise couldn't pack that big of a punch. To blow up an entire planet, I mean. If someone's of a mind to do such a thing."
Degra turned to face him, but didn't speak. Trip knew he should stop, but he couldn't. Not now that he was already halfway in. "You think I could take a look-see at that telemetry? From the probe you launched against earth? Engineer to engineer, o'course," he said, gesturing in a mockery of gallantry between himself and Degra.
"Commander," T'Pol said, her voice dropping into a warning tone. "I think if you increase the data resolution—"
"Sure thing." Trip made a show of getting back down into the panel. He tapped at the settings, doing as she asked. "You were watching the attack, weren't you?"
Trip asked the question casually, but there was no mistaking the bite in his voice. "I'd think you'd want to calculate the blast yields. Must've been some party on your end. You took quite a chunk out of Florida."
He hopped up from the floor and advanced toward Degra, stopping just shy of being menacing. "That's my territory, Florida."
"Commander," T'Pol's voice barely registered.
"You watch the video footage? Cities burnin'? People bein' vaporized?" Trips eyes narrowed. "My sister lived there."
"Commander!" This time, T'Pol's voice penetrated. Trip turned to look at her, snapping his mouth shut and staring at her.
"How are things going?"
Trip turned slightly toward the captain's voice, still maintaining eye contact with T'Pol.
"Just a bit longer, Cap'n," Trip said tightly, and leaned back down to the panel. Another few buttons tapped, probably a little harder than necessary, and they were back in business.
He looked up at the screen, and it flickered. Maybe not.
Archer turned to Degra, who was watching Trip warily. "Why don't you come with me? We can wait in my ready room until they're finished."
Degra nodded and headed out the door. Archer paused at the doorway.
"Let's just get the job done, understood?"
Trip widened his eyes in a who, me? expression. "Aye, captain!"
Silence fell as Archer and Degra left. Trip started rearranging the tools in his toolbox, needing something to do with his hands.
He started when he felt T'Pol at his side. "Captain Archer is in a difficult situation," she said. "We need Degra's trust if we hope to achieve our mission."
Trip paused and looked at her, seeing the strain in her face, the barely contained frustration and irritation with him, and all that hate he'd been hurling at Degra suddenly reverberated back onto himself.
If she felt even a fraction of what he did, she must hate him to the marrow of his bones. He deserved nothing less than her derision and rejection.
Trip nodded curtly, slammed his toolbox shut, and swept out of the room, desperate to escape.
It didn't occur to him until he was halfway down the corridor that he'd just done it again: he'd abandoned her to deal with everything alone.
He really was a selfish coward.
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Nearly a day later, Trip felt as though his world had ground to a halt while the rest of life streamed past him at warp speed. The Xindi Welcome Tour had churned on, culminating in a defeat of the Xindi reptilian ship that had almost spoiled everything. Their tenuous peace treaty, at least with Degra's faction, had held.
Unlike the peace treaty, Trip's emotions had been out of control. Three frustrations coalesced into a churning sea of anger: his grief over losing Elizabeth, his guilt over not being able to write to Jane Taylor's parents, and his regret over his actions with T'Pol. Each one ignited the others, building and swirling, until he felt like he was drowning.
Wresting control back had become a priority. He'd tried again—and failed—at writing the letter to Jane Taylor's parents. Three drafts, and the Xindi had pulled him away again.
Then that incident had led to his second outburst at Degra. The next time he'd been in the same room with him, the captain had practically had to hold Trip back from punching the guy. Not that he didn't deserve it.
And as the hours passed, he still hadn't been able to get time alone with T'Pol. His need to apologize to her, to set things right, ate at him.
Only one bit of progress had been made in the last twenty-four hours: Trip could at least admit that this situation with the Xindi was bigger than his grief, bigger than the loss of Elizabeth, as much as her death had hurt him. Once they'd all had that close shave with the reptilians who'd come nosing around, he'd gotten his mind reset. Saving earth, not punishing the Xindi, was the important focus here.
Some of the anger, at least toward them, receded into the background. He could work with them, but nothing could make him befriend them.
Trip took a deep breath before reexamining the fused assemblies in front of him. He was on E deck, in one of the last heavily damaged sections. His repair crews were going to start on this section in the morning, and he'd needed a distraction. He'd briefly considered trying to find some time to speak with T'Pol. But she had been busy, and he couldn't pull her away from her duties just to make himself feel better.
"Crewman Rostov told me you'd be here."
At first, Trip thought he'd conjured her out of thin air, but he looked up, blinking in the dim light, to find T'Pol standing at his side, a cylinder in her arms.
He motioned to the equipment she was carrying. "That for me?"
She lifted the cylinder a bit higher. "Portable power cells."
"From the Xindi?"
T'Pol nodded.
Trip huffed his skepticism at their benevolence, but didn't comment. "I've spent an hour workin' on this mess," he said, indicating the open panel. "Crews will need some power tomorrow when they start repairs."
"Then these could be useful." T'Pol set the power cell down on the floor nearby. "Can I help?"
Trip reached for a rag on the floor, wiping his hands as he stood up. "Can you bring back the dead?"
She raised an eyebrow in question.
"Taylor was great at this kind of thing." Trip threw the rag back onto the floor and looked back up at T'Pol. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "There are so many of them, just gone. Taylor. Kamata. Marcel. Pacheco—a dozen more. Too many!"
Trip's voice broke. "That's why this—" he stopped, searching for the right word, "-this neighborliness with the Xindi chafes so much. It's their fault we're in this nightmare. Their fault we've lost so many so needlessly."
He paused, suddenly needing to catch his breath. "So, you know what?" His eyes flashed. "They can keep their damn power cells!"
Trip kicked at the one she'd set down, and it careened off the nearby wall and down the corridor with a satisfying metal clang.
Turning away as his eyes stung, Trip looked across the corridor. Where they were suddenly hit him.
He gestured to the door across the corridor. "We found Taylor right there, just outside her quarters. Rostov figures she was trying to get to her station—he'd just been on the comm with her before this section was hit. If he'd kept her on the line a little longer, or she'd moved a little quicker—God!"
Trip ran a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "If any of a thousand things had happened, I wouldn't have to write this damn letter to her parents."
He turned back to T'Pol, his vision suddenly blurry as his eyes welled with tears. "Every time I start, I just—" he paused, swallowing. "Elizabeth and Taylor—they had so much in common, and when I start describing Taylor, everything I say about her is something I could be saying about Elizabeth."
T'Pol's eyes searched his face, and he clung to her gaze, needing her understanding. Her sympathy.
"I couldn't save her," he whispered, his voice breaking, tears spilling over.
"It wasn't your fault," T'Pol said gently, her hand coming up to grip his shoulder.
"Maybe not," Trip said, clearing his throat and wiping away tears from his cheeks. "But I can't stop thinking about losing her."
He closed his eyes, the waves of emotions cresting now that he'd let the dam break.
"At first, I thought I didn't deserve to mourn for her. She was one of seven million." His voice grew hoarse again. "Seven million! What's one little sister in the midst of all that? But she was my baby sister, T'Pol, and even all these months later, I can't get past it."
T'Pol's voice was soft, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "She was important to you. Mourning her is important, too."
At her words, the tears spilled over again, and Trip gave into them, the release of emotion cleansing. It wouldn't solve any of his problems, but it felt as if it was letting some of the pressure escape.
To his surprise, T'Pol stepped closer, raising both hands to cup his face. She wiped his tears away and he could see her own eyes brimming, emotion welling to the surface, inspired by his.
The moment seemed to freeze, the harmony between them similar to the afternoon before when the two of them were entwined on her shower floor. Trip let out a broken breath, clasping her wrist and holding tight.
God, he loved her. Even though he'd abandoned her, even though she had to be frustrated with him, she was here, consoling him. Supporting him. Helping him.
Maybe there was some hope: maybe she could forgive him.
Then, to his astonishment, T'Pol closed the distance between them and touched her lips to his. It was feather-light, barely there, but his whole world coalesced into that one fleeting sensation.
She broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his. Trip closed his eyes and looked inside his mind. The transparent barrier was gone, and once again, their energies were nestled up against each other.
T'Pol pulled back and some of the magic of the moment faded. Still, she didn't let go of him, and her hands trembled against his face. He could practically feel her unsteadiness echoing in his mind.
"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," he said, his guilt rising up again. "You have too much to deal with already. This can't be helping you."
"I am not at my best," she admitted, her voice quiet. "But your emotion is not new to me. Even before the Trellium, I experienced grief."
"I thought Vulcans had total emotional control."
T'Pol shook her head and slid her hands from his face to his shoulders, resting them there. "Loss still affects us. For me, it was my father. I was barely an adult, but I discovered something important then—if Vulcans give into those emotions, they can overcome us." She swiped a thumb across his cheek again, collecting the last of his tears.
He smiled wryly. "And this isn't bein' overcome?"
She shook her head. "Your emotion is purging itself. I am discovering that the ease at which you do so is something to be envied."
"Thank you," he said, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "I needed to let all of that out. I appreciate you listenin' to me." He paused, searching her face. "It means a lot."
"I am your friend," she said simply. "And you have supported me as well."
Dropping her hands, she stepped back.
Trip turned his focus inward as he studied her face, their eyes clinging to each other. Their energies were still connected.
"I'm sorry," he said in a rush, suddenly overcome again, this time by remorse. It clogged his throat, and he couldn't get any more words out.
She looked at him warily. "For what?"
He felt like he was choking, but he managed a bit more. "You said I supported you, but I haven't. Not like I should've. Last night—I'm so sorry I left."
Stiffening, she backed up a step. Trip closed the distance and gripped her upper arms gently, clinging to her. "Please, don't go. I need you to understand."
She pressed her lips together a little more firmly but didn't try to move away.
He took another deep breath, and then let it all out in a rush. "I'm scared. I was scared, I mean. Last night."
"Why?"
Jeez. Why was this so difficult?
"What we have—what we are—I don't know where it's going."
Her eyebrow twitched. "I do not know, either."
Trip scrambled for words. He was an idiot. None of this was what he meant to say. Why was it so hard to get out? It was like he'd used up all his words talking about Elizabeth, and now, when he most needed them, he had none left.
He tried again. "But it's somethin' strong, right? What we feel for each other?"
She waited so long to answer him that Trip's heart began to pound.
"Yes."
He blinked. Had she really said it? He took in her features, now softened at the admission. She had.
Was this it? Had he said everything he wanted to say? Trip's heart pounded.
No, he hadn't. He still had to confess, to explain this connection they had.
The silence between them lengthened, and Trip knew—this was his chance. This was his opportunity to tell her everything. Right now, when things between them were so promising.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The silence stretched, and her expression changed to one of concern.
"You seem agitated."
Trip smiled humorlessly. "You could say that."
"What is it?"
Trip squeezed her shoulders once before dropping his hands. "You know how sometimes, there's something you know you need to say, but you just can't find the words?"
She shook her head. "I am not certain what you mean."
Trip sighed. Maybe he needed some support for this conversation. After all, he'd said way back in the beginning that T'Pol would want proof—maybe if Phlox could help, explain the scientific side of it—it would dislodge this blockage he seemed to have.
"Look, I just—I'm sorry. For more than last night, I mean. I've been a horrible friend to you this past week," he said. "I'm sorry."
"What do you mean?"
"You're fightin' this Trellium addiction all by yourself. I wanted to be there for you, but I wasn't. Not like I should have been."
"We've all been busy," she said. "I have done fairly well on my own."
"That's no excuse. I should've checked in with you more often. I will from now on."
A slight sheen of tears brightened her eyes. "I would appreciate that."
An awkward silence descended. Trip looked at the floor. God, he was still bein' a coward. He needed to tell her. Maybe if he could get her to sickbay—maybe then he'd find the words.
Finally he said, "Have you been to see Phlox lately?"
"No," T'Pol answered, unaware of his internal struggle. "I suppose I should."
"You're having some symptoms?"
She nodded. "Another hypospray would be helpful, I believe. And it's been a week—Phlox should examine me again."
"That would be a good idea."
The silence stretched again.
"Would you like to accompany me?" T'Pol said, her tone uncertain.
"Of course!" Trip nearly bit his tongue. "I mean, if you want me to."
T'Pol's features softened again. "I do."
He turned and gestured for her to follow.
They walked a few steps before her soft voice broke the silence. "You have been a help to me, Trip."
"Really?"
"Yes. At first, I did not like that you knew about my struggle. But as time has passed, knowing that you are willing to support me has made it easier to bear."
Trip reached across and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in his. "I'm glad. But I can do more. I will do more."
She didn't answer, but squeezed his hand back.
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"This is good news," Phlox said some time later, his eyes on the data from T'Pol's scans as it scrolled across the screens. "The residual trellium is nearly gone from your system."
T'Pol's lips tightened. "But my symptoms—they have not lessened."
"Your emotional control?"
"Still tenuous at best."
Her voice was shaky, and Trip ached to grab her hand again in reassurance. He didn't; they weren't alone in sickbay. Out of earshot for the most part, but certainly not with any expectation of full privacy.
Phlox changed to a different set of data, sighing when he reviewed the results. "The damage to your neural pathways is significant, Commander." He turned sympathetic eyes to hers. "It may be permanent."
Her back stiffened. "That is unacceptable."
"I will continue to look for treatments that may help," Phlox said gently, "but you may have to learn to live with these emotions."
"And what if I can't?"
"You can," Phlox said firmly. "You have a lot of support. You are not in this alone. You have me. You have Commander Tucker. And you have a strength of character unmatched by nearly anyone I've ever encountered."
She started to speak, then closed her mouth again, reconsidering. Phlox and Trip waited.
"What is it?" Trip said when it looked like she wasn't going to continue.
"I appreciate your support," she said finally. "But if this condition is permanent, I cannot rely on you both indefinitely." She stopped, raising her chin in determination. "I must try to do this alone."
Phlox turned to Trip, his eyebrows quirked up. Trip felt his heart stutter—this was it. This was the moment Phlox was going to take over, to tell her about their connection.
God—Trip felt like an idiot. He'd had his chance, and it was too late.
"Commander," Phlox said to T'Pol, his tone gentle but wary, "you may not be able to do this by yourself."
"I must try."
"That is not what I mean." Phlox changed the data set yet again. "There is a factor of which you are not currently aware."
T'Pol's eyes narrowed as she studied the data on the screen. "This is data from a neural monitor." Her line of sight shot toward the corner where the crew data was displayed. Her eyes widened, then shot to Trip. "This is from you?"
Trip's heart pounded. "Yes, it's my neural monitor."
"I don't understand."
Phlox sighed. "About a month ago, Mr. Tucker came to me with some specific symptoms. He said he had a heightened awareness of you. A connection he described as telepathic in nature."
"A month ago? What was the date, precisely?"
Phlox told her.
"Then this was right after we—"
"Yes," Trip said. "It was."
She looked at him, and Trip's heart sank. Her eyes were suddenly brimming with emotion, and all of it was betrayal. Hurt, and turning into anger.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'm sorry," Trip whispered. "I wanted to, but I wasn't sure what it was. It was just an intuition. I couldn't be sure it wasn't my imagination. So I came to the doc, and he gave me the neural monitor."
"Is it still just an intuition?" She crossed her arms over her stomach, hugging herself.
"No," Trip whispered. "It's more than that."
"Explain." Her voice was ice. She wouldn't look at him.
He studied her profile, his heart breaking. "I see you in my mind," he said. "Not you, exactly, but like an energy. You're beautiful." His voice broke. "Glowing. Like golden fire. Warm. Vibrant."
Her spine stiffened further. "Continue."
He sighed. "I see my own mind energy, too, alongside yours. And I can feel what you're feeling. Your energy moves and changes as your emotions do."
"And you can influence my emotions," she said, anger an undercurrent in her words.
Trip swallowed past the ache in his throat. "I think so."
"You should have said something." Her voice was flat.
Trip looked at the floor. He should have said something. Maybe if he had, they'd have had a chance.
"Are you aware of such a connection among Vulcans?" Phlox said, doing his best to return the conversation to the clinical aspects of this phenomenon.
"Yes," she said stiffly. "There is a long-standing belief that when Vulcans take a mate, a telepathic bond is formed."
"Ah," Phlox said. "Then that would explain this connection." He paused, considering. "You did not think it was possible with a human?"
"No," she said shortly. "Humans are not telepathic, so I did not prepare for the possibility."
Phlox turned back to the scans. "The results are much as I had suspected, Mr. Tucker. While your connection with Commander T'Pol has grown stronger over the last month, it does not appear that the connection is one-sided, as you first suspected. T'Pol can connect with you in a similar way." He paused, turning to her. "I am puzzled why you were not able to sense the connection."
She had to unclench her jaw before answering. "These heightened emotions were unfamiliar to me. If had had my usual control, I would have sensed Commander Tucker's emotions in my mind."
Phlox looked intrigued. "So you believe that his emotions blended with yours, making them essentially undetectable."
She nodded. "My emotions have been unpredictable. I would have attributed any unexpected emotions to the effects of the Trellium or withdrawal symptoms."
"Is such a bond permanent?"
T'Pol's mouth tightened before she answered. "In most cases, yes. Especially a bond that has continued unchecked for so long. If I had known about it at first, it's possible I could have taken steps to prevent its growth."
Trip's heart sank. Everywhere this conversation went, his poor choices were exposed.
"Why didn't you inform me?" T'Pol's question was directed at Dr. Phlox.
Phlox frowned. "I would have," he admitted, "but the timing was poor. Mr. Tucker's health did not seem to be in jeopardy, and right after I implanted the neural monitor, our conflict with the Xindi became dire. The monitor continued to collect data, but I did not have an opportunity to review it in detail until this morning."
Trip watched her face. T'Pol saw the logic in Phlox's response. His behavior, after all, was not motivated by emotion.
Phlox turned off the screen and back to T'Pol. "Still, despite the new information you have provided about Vulcan mating bonds, the original situation remains the same. You are unlikely to be successful in overcoming your symptoms if you insist on doing it alone."
"I do not need this telepathic connection," T'Pol said coldly. "I will not rely on it."
Trip heard what she meant: she would not rely on him.
"I'm sorry, T'Pol," Trip said softly. "I thought I was protecting you. I thought this would be just one more thing you had to deal with, and I didn't want to overwhelm you. I didn't want to add to your stress. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back. I wish I could change it."
"You can't. It's too late."
"I know. But we can go forward from here. I can make this right." He reached for her, but she leaned away from him and he let his hand fall. "Please, let me help you."
She finally lifted her eyes to his, and what he saw there broke his heart. His T'Pol, the one who'd kissed him just moments before in the corridor, was gone. Her eyes were flat. Shuttered. Completely hidden from him.
"You violated my privacy. You had unfettered access to my mind, and you did not value me enough to tell me about it. You gave me no opportunity to protect myself. No way to shield myself. You saw my private emotions without my permission."
T'Pol slid off the examination table, coming stand inches from him, her expression colder than he'd ever seen it. "I do not need your help."
Trip's heart pounded at the finality in her voice. Panicked, he turned his thoughts inward.
The wall in his mind was back. This time, it wasn't transparent. It was firm. Solid. Impenetrable.
She had cut him off.
.
.
A/N: I don't know why, but this chapter was really difficult to write. I'm sorry if this wasn't up to my usual standards. Too much happening in the surrounding story, I guess. Stupid Xindi—always getting in the way of the Trip & T'Pol romance.
Anyway, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to all of you who have read and reviewed, despite my slow updates. You motivate me to keep it moving forward, even at a snail's pace. I have 3-4 chapters left to go. Fingers crossed that real life lets me get to them a little quicker!