Title: Sympathies and Symmetries
Author: Zane Gray (agent8e9@yahoo.com)
Series: Enterprise
Rating: PG
Summary: As Sub-Commander T'Pol struggles to deal with her mental
violation at the hands of the Suliban, she finds a measure of comfort from
an unexpected source.
About the Story: This story is intended as a post-ep for Shockwave,
Parts I & II. It's also a sequel to my story One Step Back,
Two Steps Forward, and is a prequel to three others I've written, Time
Enough, Differential and The Early Hours (reading the
stories in the intended order is highly recommended). Sympathies and
Symmetries takes place the night after the Enterprise escaped from the
Suliban Helix, several hours after the conference with Starfleet and
Ambassador Soval and an hour prior to Archer's late-night visit
with T'Pol.
Commander Tucker lay in his bunk unable to sleep, his temples pounding
despite the analgesic Phlox had given him earlier. Trip was bone weary,
but his mind felt like it was hotwired to a fusion reactor as it struggled
to come to grips with the events of the last couple of days.
Let's see... first there was the destruction of the Paraagan colony that
left thirty-six hundred people dead, the concussion he'd suffered on the
shuttlepod during the incident and then coming to in Sickbay with T'Pol
watching over him and the Captain, Malcolm and Hoshi freaking out nearby.
Then there was Starfleet canceling their mission, the Captain's sudden
time-travel adventure and his disturbing knowledge of beyond-cutting-edge
physics. Before he could catch his breath from all that, Trip had found
himself building a pair of quantum beacons whose operation he still
didn't understand. And then came their little excursion to the Suliban
stealth ship, the subsequent attack and the disappearance of the Captain,
followed by them all getting pushed around by Silik and his cronies and
being locked in their cabins. Then Trip had kissed the manufacturer's
warranty on his door com good-bye trying to contact the others, Malcolm
had gotten voluntarily beaten to a pulp and they'd finally made their
escape from the Helix by faking a core breach.
Trip thought briefly about all the damage he was gonna have to repair...
fuck. Oh, but it didn't end there.
Shortly thereafter, the Captain had returned with amazing tales of life
in the thirty-first century. Then there'd been Soval's expected arrogance
to deal with... which Trip hadn't of course. Instead, he'd personally lost
it on the Bridge in front of the entire senior staff... lovely.
And then, capping it all off, there was Archer's gazelle speech (gazelles?!)
and T'Pol's little pro-Humanity pep-rally that not only caught the Vulcans
off guard, but might also have saved their mission.
Frankly, just tallying that mental list freaked him the hell out.
I need a vacation, Trip thought wearily. Then he remembered his
recent visit to Risa, and the burning humiliation he'd felt climbing out
of the shuttlepod in his blues and a bathrobe under a pair of
ever-observant Vulcan eyes, and decided that maybe what he really
needed was to just be knocked unconscious for a month. Sleep, at least,
would have been a welcome respite. But after three hours of tossing and
turning in his sheets, that prospect continued only to taunt him cruelly,
just out of reach.
Trip turned his head so that he could see the comforting blur of stars
streaking outside his viewport... and then remembered that they were
moving on impulse, still docked to the Ti'Kir.
He sighed heavily. The fact was, something else had been nagging
at him too. And strangely, it was more disturbing to him than all of the
rest combined. T'Pol just... well, she just didn't seem herself.
Funny how it always seemed to come back to her lately.
Not that her reaction would seem unexpected after the day's events. Just
look at what a basket case I am, Trip thought. But it was more than
that. First, Trip had been unable to call her this afternoon for more than
an hour, when she should have been locked in her quarters like everyone
else. When she'd finally responded, her voice sounded weak and...
uncertain. She'd brushed off his concern of course, blaming the
instability of his jury-rigged com. Then, when they'd kicked off their
little uprising, starting with those two Suliban guards, Trip was certain
he'd heard actual fear in T'Pol's voice as she struggled against
them. He and Malcolm had quickly taken the guards out, but he'd caught her
visibly shuddering out of the corner of his eye as they dragged the
unconscious Suliban into his quarters. And then there was her decidedly
miffed sounding comment about him taking so long to come to her
aid. It had seemed offhand at first, and then they'd just been too busy
for him to give it a second thought. But now... pissy little comments like
that just weren't T'Pol's style. Even in stressful situations, he'd never
known T'Pol to lose control of her emotions, even a little.
If I live to be a hundred, I'll probably never understand Vulcans,
Trip mused silently. Especially her. Then he was struck by an
unexpected wave of sadness at that thought, realizing just how badly he
did want to understand T'Pol.
Strange. At first he'd hated her guts so badly he'd wanted to flush her
ass out the Launch Bay at least once a week. Then, after the whole
encrypted communications debacle, things had started to change between
them. They'd actually somehow managed to tune into each other's
wave-lengths - at least in part - and work well together. And now... Trip
thought of her as a friend. One of his best in fact.
Heaving a sigh of frustration, Trip glanced over at the chronometer next
to his bunk. 0130 hours... and all is definitely not well. Beautiful.
Feeling more than a little angry at the Universe, Trip tossed off his
sheets and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. For a moment, he stood rubbing
his temples in a futile effort to ease the pounding of his head. Then,
without warning, Trip grabbed the nearest object he could find - an
unlucky PADD on his nightstand - and threw it furiously against the
bulkhead. It shattered... but did little to ease his frustrations.
"FUCK!"
The door hissed shut unsympathetically behind him as he stormed out of
the cabin.
...
Less than five minutes later, Trip found himself pacing back and forth in
front of another door. Her door.
Sacred ground. Forbidden territory.
Trip hovered indecisively for a moment, then impulsively raised his hand
as if to ring the bell. But just before he did, he pulled his hand back
quickly, chiding himself. She's probably sleeping, dumbass. Like you'd
be right now if you had any brains left.
With a huff, Trip suddenly turned and stalked off... nearly colliding
with Crewman Fuller in the process. He mumbled an quick apology and
continued on, looking back over his shoulder just in time to see Fuller
watching him with a strange expression as he rounded a junction in the
corridor.
Perfect. You're a thirty-three year old Chief Engineer and a highly
trained Starfleet Commander... and you've just been caught stalking the
Science Officer in your pajamas. Nice.
Embarrassed, Trip marched angrily in the direction of the Mess Hall,
which was honestly where he'd planned to go in the first place. After
all... absent sleep, there was always pie.
Thirty seconds later - after checking carefully to make sure the corridor
was empty this time - there he was, once again standing before the
entrance to T'Pol's quarters.
Mr. Wishy-Washy. Door Number Three.
"Fuck..." He walked away.
"No... no... NOOOOOO!!"
He was back at her door instantly. Trip knew that voice anywhere.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong inside her quarters. He hit the
'announce' button.
"T'Pol?" No response. He hit the button again.
"T'Pol, are you all right?"
"No... don't! Please, NOOOOOOO!!"
His fingers flew over the keypad, entering an override code known only to
four people on the ship - himself, the Captain, Malcolm... and her.
In moments the door flew open and Trip's eyes struggled to adjust to the
darkness as he raced inside. The door hissed shut behind him.
"T'Pol...?"
Trip realized that a dark cloth of some kind had been affixed over the
viewport... that's why it was so dark. Then he heard moaning sounds and
his eyes found the cabin's small bunk. He could just make out her tiny
form as it twisted frantically in the sheets.
"I don't know where the Captain is! Stop! NOOOOO!"
Jesus... she was having a nightmare. Or reliving a nightmare.
Then she screamed in agony and Trip was moving, propelled by fear to her
side. He sat on the edge of the bunk and touched her bare arm gently.
"T'Pol... it's okay..."
She flinched at his touch, becoming even more panicked. "No...
NOOOOO!!" Her eyes were open but she wasn't seeing. Trip grabbed
her hand firmly and palmed her cheek.
"T'Pol... you're okay! It's Trip... you're just dreaming! Come back
to me here..."
Whether it was the sound of his voice or his touch, Trip didn't know. But
gradually, she stopped thrashing beside him, her breath returning to a
more normal rhythm. Her moans fell to mere whimpers and then, after
several long moments, her eyes finally seemed to focus and see him.
"Commander...?" She was clearly dazed and disoriented.
"T'Pol... are you okay?" The worry in his voice hung heavily in
the room.
She looked around and swallowed dryly. "We are in my quarters. Why
are you in my quarters?"
He stammered nervously for a moment until he could get his brain going
again.
"I... I was... going by outside and I heard you crying out. I was...
I was worried that something was wrong with you..."
Embarrassed, Trip tried to pull back his hand and stand. But T'Pol's grip
tightened, refusing to let him go.
"NO! Don't..." She seemed to be fighting an internal
struggle. "Don't go."
The unabashed need in her voice, the desperation, cut through his
indecision. "Okay."
T'Pol became suddenly embarrassed... ashamed. Trip saw this... and
suddenly also noticed that she was wearing a pair of silky pajamas. Her
top had bunched up under her breasts. They both realized at the exact same
moment that her belly was exposed... that she was shivering.
Swallowing hard, Trip quickly broke the moment, pulling T'Pol's sheets up
over her to the relief of them both. When he looked up, he saw that she
was watching him like a deer caught in headlights.
"T'Pol... what happened? Did... did Silik do something to you? Did
he hurt you?"
T'Pol suddenly rolled away from him to face the bulkhead. She pulled her
arms and legs in tightly, assuming a fetal position. Trip sighed, trying
to figure out what to do. Then, on an impulse, he lay down behind her.
"My mama used to do this when I was little," he gently assured
her. "When I'd wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, I
crawled into her bed and she snuggled me like this."
He began stroking her shoulder softly. Against her better judgment,
T'Pol's body pushed back into the reassuring warmth of him.
"Vulcans... Vulcans do not have nightmares."
"Okay."
She'd expected a different response. She tried again to placate her
sensibilities. "Vulcans do not snuggle."
"Okay."
Frowning, T'Pol's mind continued to spin off balance. And then, as Trip's
hand moved up to gently massage the tightened muscles of her neck, T'Pol
felt her body beginning to relax. For twenty... maybe thirty minutes they
lay together silently, as Trip continued his ministrations. T'Pol closed
her eyes, focusing on his soothing touch... letting her mind empty of
concerns. It was not unlike meditation.
After a long while, Trip finally spoke. "I meant to tell you
earlier... I mean, I wanted to let you know how much it means to all of us
that you stood up to Soval. That you stuck up for us like that. I know it
probably wasn't easy."
She opened her eyes in the darkness but didn't reply. Trip eventually
became uncomfortable with her silence. "I should go."
Then... as he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, Trip leaned over
and placed a quick, chaste kiss on the back of her head.
"I'm glad you're here, T'Pol. I just wanted you to know that."
As he moved to leave, T'Pol sat up, pulling the sheets up over herself
shyly. "Commander..." she began.
Trip turned back to her. "We don't have to talk about this.
I mean... if you don't want to. I know Vulcans don't like to talk about
their feelings."
She nodded, unable to do anything else.
"But if you ever do want to... to you know... talk..."
She found herself nodding again as his voice trailed off.
"Well... I guess that's what friends are for." He smiled warmly
at her. "Sweet dreams, T'Pol."
And then he was gone. T'Pol lay back on her bunk and stared at the
ceiling in wonder. Then she spoke softly in the darkness.
"Vulcans do not dream..."
...
Outside her door, Trip just stood for a moment, mesmerized. Then he
slowly turned in the direction of the Mess Hall. After all... sleep would
never find him now. And there was still pie. But as he ambled down the
corridor, just one thought occupied his mind...
Whaddya know... girl's got an outie.
In the days that followed, his Engineering staff would come to note that
a very long time passed before Trip's mysterious grin faded.
...
An hour later, T'Pol lay quietly in the darkness of her cabin, still
staring up at the ceiling. She carefully pondered the events of the last
two days, the recent course of her life, her decision to remain on the
Enterprise, the importance of her friendship with Commander Tucker and her
relationships with some of the others. For so long she had tried to
dismiss these Humans... to convince herself that they were irrational...
illogical. Now, she found that she no longer had the energy or the desire
to do so. And, strangely, her ordeal earlier in the day suddenly seemed
more... tolerable. She knew that, with time, she would get past it.
T'Pol rolled over on her side and touched the skin of her arm, tracing
the path Commander Tucker's fingers had traveled. For just an instant, the
corner of her mouth curled up. Then she closed her eyes and made an effort
to simply rest. But rest was the best she could do. After all... sleep
would never find her now. She wondered absently if there was any pecan pie
in the Mess Hall.
Then the door com rang again. T'Pol sat up, weary but suddenly wishing to
see his face once more.
"Come in."
When the door opened, Captain Archer entered instead. T'Pol was
disappointed. There was something in her commanding officer's
expression... something needy... that she found disturbing. And yet, she
was oddly amused. If I live to be two hundred, I will never understand
these Humans...
"I can't be certain, but Crewman Fuller might have seen me coming in
here..."
--- FIN ---
If you liked what you just read, be sure to read Time Enough,
Differential and The Early Hours, which are the next
stories in this series. And in case you haven't read it already, One
Step Back, Two Steps Forward is the prequel to this story. Watch for
the next installment in this series, Objects in Motion, coming
later in 2003.
Best wishes as always!
Zane Gray
agent8e9@yahoo.com
4/12/03
