Chapter 3 - Digging
The door chimed.
"T'Pol. Umm, little help?"
T'Pol went to her door and saw Trip laden down with food, both on a small trolley to the side of him, in his arms and various things squashed into his pockets.
"Have you been crying, T'Pol?"
"Who are you planning to feed, Commander?
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, I didn't know what you felt like, so, well." Trip trailed off slightly bemused.
"You brought everything."
"Are you going to help me or just stand in the doorway arguing?" He pushed the trolley into her quarters, and started emptying his arms and his pockets onto her bed.
"Commander!"
"Will you stop calling me that? What?"
"You are making a mess." She frowned slightly and moved forward, grasping Trip by the arm to stop him sitting on the bread rolls he brought with him.
"Huh? Oh. hang on." He cleared enough space and sat down, tugging her down with him. "So"
"So, Commander?"
"T'Pol. Humour me, would you? Don't call me Commander. You gotta eat. And you haven't answered my question" he looked to her offering her some fruit. She looked down at his outstretched hand and wrinkled her nose daintily. He shrugged and picked up a sandwich.
"Not hungry?" She got up and went to the window again. "You never did answer my question." He said quietly into his sandwich.
"Which one would that be?"
"Have you been crying?"
"What is it you want exactly?"
"I want to know what's wrong. You're unhappy. And yes, I know you're a Vulcan. You're still unhappy. You almost told me earlier." He interrupted her hastily.
"Why do you care, Commander?" He got up from the bed, walked over to the window, took T'Pol's arm and turned her around to face him.
"It's Trip, T'Pol. Call me Trip. And because you're my friend." He looked at her, at her eyes, which were looking anywhere but back at him.
"You can go back and tell the Captain you were unsuccessful. No one will know any different." She spoke hesitantly but with a bitter tone in her voice, one that was unusual for her.
"What's the Captain got to do with anything?" Trip kept looking at her, willing her to look back at him. Realisation was slow to dawn, but it eventually did. "You think I'm only doing this because the Captain told me to aren't you?" "Aren't you?" His voice was raised slowly.
Finally, finally she looked at him. "Aren't you?" Her usually unreadable face was almost contorted.
"God, no! I'm doing this because I care. Because I'm worried about you. I can't remember the last time I saw you eat, it's affecting your work, it's affecting YOU whatever it is. Tell me. "
"Come on. Sit down and talk to me. I got you some tea; it's on the trolley somewhere. Drink something and talk to me" Trip sat her down on the bed and handing the mug of steaming tea to her. He then seated himself on the floor and listened. T'Pol took a sip of her tea and began to talk.
The door chimed.
"T'Pol. Umm, little help?"
T'Pol went to her door and saw Trip laden down with food, both on a small trolley to the side of him, in his arms and various things squashed into his pockets.
"Have you been crying, T'Pol?"
"Who are you planning to feed, Commander?
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, I didn't know what you felt like, so, well." Trip trailed off slightly bemused.
"You brought everything."
"Are you going to help me or just stand in the doorway arguing?" He pushed the trolley into her quarters, and started emptying his arms and his pockets onto her bed.
"Commander!"
"Will you stop calling me that? What?"
"You are making a mess." She frowned slightly and moved forward, grasping Trip by the arm to stop him sitting on the bread rolls he brought with him.
"Huh? Oh. hang on." He cleared enough space and sat down, tugging her down with him. "So"
"So, Commander?"
"T'Pol. Humour me, would you? Don't call me Commander. You gotta eat. And you haven't answered my question" he looked to her offering her some fruit. She looked down at his outstretched hand and wrinkled her nose daintily. He shrugged and picked up a sandwich.
"Not hungry?" She got up and went to the window again. "You never did answer my question." He said quietly into his sandwich.
"Which one would that be?"
"Have you been crying?"
"What is it you want exactly?"
"I want to know what's wrong. You're unhappy. And yes, I know you're a Vulcan. You're still unhappy. You almost told me earlier." He interrupted her hastily.
"Why do you care, Commander?" He got up from the bed, walked over to the window, took T'Pol's arm and turned her around to face him.
"It's Trip, T'Pol. Call me Trip. And because you're my friend." He looked at her, at her eyes, which were looking anywhere but back at him.
"You can go back and tell the Captain you were unsuccessful. No one will know any different." She spoke hesitantly but with a bitter tone in her voice, one that was unusual for her.
"What's the Captain got to do with anything?" Trip kept looking at her, willing her to look back at him. Realisation was slow to dawn, but it eventually did. "You think I'm only doing this because the Captain told me to aren't you?" "Aren't you?" His voice was raised slowly.
Finally, finally she looked at him. "Aren't you?" Her usually unreadable face was almost contorted.
"God, no! I'm doing this because I care. Because I'm worried about you. I can't remember the last time I saw you eat, it's affecting your work, it's affecting YOU whatever it is. Tell me. "
"Come on. Sit down and talk to me. I got you some tea; it's on the trolley somewhere. Drink something and talk to me" Trip sat her down on the bed and handing the mug of steaming tea to her. He then seated himself on the floor and listened. T'Pol took a sip of her tea and began to talk.