Draught
Time passed at an incredibly slow rate for T'Pol as she sat in a chair in sickbay, mulling over her newly regained memories and trying to assess their repercussions. She had neglected to meditate for several days, mostly due to the stress of the environment and other factors, including surfacing emotions related to Commander Tucker. That was a possible explanation for much of what occurred, but it did not entirely explain why some of those emotions lingered, why she still felt something for the commander.
"I must simply meditate more until this passes." she told herself. But the words were hollow and empty.
Then a terrible idea came into her mind: what if he reciprocated these feelings? She realized that Trip had been nicer to her, more helpful and less irritating since the incident. What if it were some unconscious drive to make her like him? The notion tied her stomach in knots, but the resulting effect was not entirely displeasing. In fact, a very small part of her wanted him to feel the same way, and that frightened her as much as anything else she had discovered.
The sound of a groan from the occupied bio-bed caused her to forget her confusing and illogical thoughts for a moment. Lifting her eyes from the floor, she could see the Trip was awake at last. Their eyes met as she rose to her feet.
"Aw, hell, no! They got Vulcan nurses now?" he blurted out, rubbing his head and squinting at her.
"Commander?" she questioned, frowning sternly at his response to her.
Phlox ambled over to the bed and began running a summary scan of the commander, who was eyeing T'Pol a bit suspiciously and apparently trying to get his bearings.
"I'm no commander. I'm just a cadet ..., ma'am." Tucker informed her, casting a none too friendly glance at the alien doctor who was examining him.
Phlox looked up from his scan with an expression of surprise on his normally smiling and jovial face.
"Why do you think you're here?" he inquired hesitantly, choosing not to address Tucker by name or rank.
"I can't recall for the life of me, but I reckon I've been in some kind of accident. My head feels like it's going to split open any minute."
"I am a doctor. My name is Phlox. You are on board the Enterprise." he informed Tucker slowly, filling a hypospray with Anaprovalin for the pain. "Can you tell me your name, the date, and the last thing you remember?"
"Cadet Charles Tucker III, March eighteenth, 2139, and ... I think was suiting up for some training on a small shuttlepod." answered Tucker. He furrowed his brow and asked, "Did I crash? 'Cause if that's the case, I'm real sorry."
"No, you didn't crash, or at least I don't think you crashed." the doctor reassured him, glancing at T'Pol where she stood impassively watching them both.
"Then why am I in a medical facility presumably not on earth?" asked Tucker shrewdly.
"Perhaps we should take this slowly, commander."
"There you go again, calling me a commander. That's practically a dirty word. If you want to call me something, you can try Trip or cadet or, hell, even ensign, if you're so inclined. I am just waiting for graduation, after all."
"Why would that rank be a dirty word?" asked T'Pol.
Tucker looked at her sharply, as though he were trying to restrain himself and trying to remember something elusive at the same time.
"I guess you were never a cadet, were you?" he retorted, not too unkindly.
"It has been a number of years since my training." she answered coolly.
"Say, doc," he began to ask, returning his attention to the Denobulan, "why do you have a Vulcan in your sickbay?" He had wanted to ask the alien about himself, but he could think of a tactful way to do so.
"She is a patient." he replied. The Phlox sighed and told Tucker, "I am afraid I have some explaining to do ..., cadet."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------