Author's note: Don't shoot me. I never promised you a rose garden.
**
Chapter 5: Fear of Drowning
Water. Everywhere. He thrashed and fought his way to the surface, a tiny air pocket in a sinking shuttle. He could see her, with her back to him. She was opening the hatch. He tried to call out her name, but was unable to hear his own voice over the roar of the water.
She managed to open the hatch, and swam out, leaving him behind, alone. He tried to follow but could not. His legs felt like they were stuck in cement. He screamed her name again, but again could hear only the roar of the water in response. Then the water closed in over his head, shutting out all sound.
Malcolm woke up with a strangled cry, his covers tangled around his legs and cold sweat soaking through his shirt. For a long moment he just lay still, listening to the sound of his own labored breathing, reminding himself he was still alive.
When he had managed to convince himself it was just a dream, like it had been the last dozen times, he threw off the covers and sat up, rubbing at his scratchy face with his palms. A cup of tea. He needed a cup of tea.
**
T'Pol hesitated outside the door to sick bay. It had been nearly three days since she had returned to Enterprise, and yet she found that, despite extensive meditation, the lack of emotional control which she had experienced while stranded had not disappeared. In fact, if anything, her difficulties had increased since her return to the ship.
She was extremely reluctant to discuss her emotional difficulties with anyone on board. However, it was entirely possible that the symptoms she was experiencing had a purely physical cause. If she were ill, then her illness could perhaps be treated and her symptoms relieved. Weighing the alternatives, she saw no other logical course of action. There was always the possibility that the doctor would diagnose a condition for which there was no cure, but that would also be worth knowing. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the control to open the door to sick bay.
She found the doctor inspecting the animal cages. When he saw her he put down a food dish and smiled brightly at her.
"Sub-Commander, what can I do for you today?"
"I would like you to examine me." T'Pol kept her voice carefully neutral.
"Have a seat." The doctor washed his hands while T'Pol sat primly on the nearest exam table. "What symptoms are you experiencing?" Phlox picked up a scanner from a counter and began to calibrate it.
"My symptoms are not important."
Phlox fixed her with a reproving look. "Sub-Commander, it is difficult for me to perform an appropriate examination if I don't know the patient's symptoms."
T'Pol stared straight ahead. "Very well. Please look for signs of pon farr"
"Ah." The doctor fiddled with the dials on the medical scanner. "And your symptoms?"
"Sleeplessness," T'Pol admitted tonelessly. "Lack of concentration. Irritability. Difficulty with emotional control."
"I see. How long have you had these symptoms?"
"Approximately two weeks and two days."
"Hmm." Phlox frowned at the scanner. "Well, you have none of the hormonal and chemical changes consistent with pon farr. Perhaps if you told me what may have triggered these symptoms?"
"I cannot say."
Phlox set the scanner back down on the counter. "Two weeks ago you were stranded with Lieutenant Reed on an uninhabited planet. Did something happen between you that may be causing your symptoms?"
"It is a private matter," T'Pol evaded.
"Too private to discuss with your doctor?"
"I do not wish to discuss it."
"It may interest you to know that I have been treating Lieutenant Reed for similar symptoms. He also did not wish to discuss any possible cause."
T'Pol did not allow her surprise to show on her face. "It is inappropriate for you to discuss Lieutenant Reed's medical conditions with me."
"Of course. On the other hand, if your symptoms have the same underlying cause. . ."
"Lieutenant Reed's condition is none of my concern. I believe we are finished."
"Would you like me to prescribe a sleep aid?"
"That is not necessary. Good day, Doctor."
As she left sick bay, T'Pol attempted to reason through the situation logically. Premise one: I am experiencing certain symptoms. Premise two: If I am not physically ill, these symptoms must be emotionally based. Premise three: I am not physically ill.
Conclusion: My symptoms are emotionally based.
Further premise one: I am proficient in techniques for controlling emotions. Further premise two: If I faithfully follow these techniques, I will be able to prevent emotions from controlling my actions.
Further conclusion: I will practice techniques to banish emotions. I will not allow my emotions to control my actions.
By the time she reached her final conclusion, T'Pol was outside the door to the science lab. Since she was not due on bridge duty until 1500, she decided to use the time to catch up on the busywork inherent in her position as Enterprise's first officer.
She sat at her immaculate desk and logged in to her workstation. She called up the duty rosters for the coming week. Aeronautics was first, followed by Astrometrics, Communications, and Engineering, all filled in with neat lists of shifts and names. T'Pol scanned down until she reached the roster for Security. It was blank.
T'Pol sat back in her chair and stared at the screen. Lieutenant Reed had not turned in his duty roster. She checked the chronometer: it was 1101. The roster had been due at 0800, which meant that it was over three hours late. In her tenure as first officer, over two years, she had never received a late duty roster from Lieutenant Reed. Commander Tucker, on the other hand, was a different story. She had cautioned the chief engineer for that very infraction on three occasions, and would have placed a written reprimand in his personnel file, had the captain allowed it.
As she stared at the screen, T'Pol decided that she must be even-handed in her treatment of her department heads. She must reprimand Lieutenant Reed. It would be unfair to Commander Tucker to do otherwise.
Thus resolved, T'Pol pushed back her chair and headed toward the armory, where she was sure to find Reed. A small, irrational part of her was glad for the excuse to talk to him. She had been feeling lonely, which was also an irrational reaction, she knew. He had become such a constant presence over the time they were stranded, that she felt almost lost without him.
T'Pol paused a moment in the corridor to regain control of her thoughts. She refused to be controlled by her emotions. Loneliness is illogical; I am sufficient unto myself, she thought. I do not require his presence to be complete.
When T'Pol reached the armory, Ensign Thomas informed her that Lieutenant Reed was working on the phase cannon assembly. She entered the open hatch and found him working alone with his back to her, either disassembling or reassembling a piece of equipment, as pieces were strewn haphazardly around the floor. He apparently did not hear her enter as he continued working and did not turn around.
"Lieutenant," she said brusquely.
He dropped a tool with a clatter, and spun around quickly at the sound of his rank, blinking when he saw her. "Can I help you?" T'Pol noticed that his face as well as his hands were smudged with thick, dark grease.
"You have neglected to turn in your duty roster."
"I haven't finished it yet." He shrugged dismissively.
T'Pol persisted. "It was due today at 0800."
"I've been a little busy, as you can see. This place went to hell in my absence. The phase cannon assembly is in need of serious overhaul." He turned his attention to one of the pieces on the floor.
T'Pol folded her hands tightly behind her back. "Perhaps you can delegate some of the work to members of your crew. That is part of your job as head of security."
Without looking up, Reed said with slight irritation in his voice, "I know what my job is, Sub-Commander." He selected a piece and turned his back to her to affix it to the disassembled phase cannon.
T'Pol watched him in silence for a moment; she could see the muscles in his shoulders rippling under his uniform, and for a brief instant she pictured him shirtless, suntanned, muscles working while he sliced open his first fish. Her eyes traveled to the curls at his neck, and she remembered how soft they felt. She was overtaken with an almost irresistible longing to touch him.
With an effort, T'Pol employed a time-honored technique to banish the emotions that were dangerously close to the surface. When she felt that she was sufficiently under control, she spoke. "When do you think your duty roster might be completed?"
"I don't know, T'Pol," Reed replied in anger so obvious that even T'Pol could read it plainly. "I'm busy here. I'll get to it when I get to it."
T'Pol responded to him with a flash of anger of her own. "Lieutenant, your attitude borders on insubordination," she exclaimed, much more sharply than she had intended
Reed spun around and blinked at her, shock evident on his face. "You're right, I--I'm sorry."
T'Pol sensed his weakness and took a step forward. "Do not think that you can abandon all protocol simply because we have interacted in a less than formal environment. I am your commanding officer, and you will show the proper respect."
Reed just stared at her, swallowing convulsively. Finally he spoke, softly. "Yes, of course, Sub-Commander." His lip twisted briefly, and his eyes dropped to the floor.
As he tipped his head forward, an errant lock of hair slipped down over his forehead. T'Pol felt her breath catch in her throat at the memories it evoked. She was weakening, but refused to give in.
"And Lieutenant," she snapped, replacing the tenderness with irritation.
"Yes?"
"Get a haircut." T'Pol turned on her heel and marched out without looking back.
After she left, Malcolm stood for several minutes rooted in place, gaze fixed on a piece of equipment on the floor. He couldn't quite seem to get his breathing under control, and he discovered that his lower lip was quivering. He pressed his lips together to keep them still. His knees, which felt like jelly, suddenly refused to support his weight.
Malcolm sank down to a sitting position, with his back against the wall. His mind jumped incoherently from one subject to another, his thoughts were jumbled and confused.
He had had relationships fall apart before, had even been dumped a number of times, so he was familiar with the uneasy, empty feeling in his stomach after a breakup. But this . . . this was completely different. It felt like his guts were being ripped out, like he was being torn limb from limb. He didn't understand why it should hurt so badly.
Malcolm told himself firmly to pull it together. There was no reason to fall to pieces over a little thing like this. He told himself to be strong, not to let it affect him so much.
Out of the chaos of his thoughts, a clear image came to his mind, of T'Pol holding his hand to her cheek. He felt her soft skin against his palm, remembered how warm and yielding her lips were when they kissed. He wanted that touch again, so badly it hurt.
The feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelmed him. He drew his knees up and buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking. For the first time since he was six years old, Malcolm Reed began to sob uncontrollably.
**
At 1303 exactly, Trip Tucker entered the armory in a very good mood. His team had managed to get the shuttlepod's engines to fire up at last, and it looked like they might even have the right parts to repair the gaping hole in the hull.
Tucker nodded to Ensign Thomas and ducked into the phase cannon bay where he knew Malcolm would be working. He found the Lieutenant with his back to him, fitting a piece of the assembly casing in place.
"Hey, Mal. You ready to go to lunch?"
Malcolm finished attaching the piece, but didn't turn around. "Er, go on ahead without me. I'm busy here."
"Come on, Malcolm. You need to take a break. I hear they got pineapple upside down cake," Trip wheedled.
"I'm not hungry." Malcolm's voice was rough. Keeping his back to Trip, he leaned over to pick up another piece of the assembly's casing from the floor.
Trip frowned in concern. "Hey, you ok?" He took Malcolm's arm and turned him around. When he spotted the man's red-rimmed eyes, his voice softened. "Are you crying?"
Malcolm shook off Trip's hand. "I'm fine. Just-just leave me alone, please." He started to turn away again, but Trip moved to get in front of him.
"No, I'm not gonna leave you alone, Malcolm. What's going on?"
"It's nothing. I'll get over it."
"It was T'Pol, wasn't it? What'd she do?"
Malcolm just shook his head and ducked around Trip to pick up the piece of casing. Sniffling, he turned toward the wall and fitted the piece into place. When he was finished, he stayed facing the wall.
Trip folded his arms across his chest. "I'm right, aren't I? The ice princess strikes again. I bet she couldn't resist the chance to kick ya while you're down."
Malcolm swiped at his eyes with his forearm. "It wasn't like that. Please just stay out of it, Trip. This doesn't concern you."
"Like hell it doesn't. You're my friend, Malcolm. Come on, talk to me about it."
Malcolm sniffled again and squared his shoulders. When he turned back to face Trip, his eyes were red but dry. "There is nothing to talk about. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do, as I'm sure you do as well."
Trip recognized that stubborn look in his friend's eyes and knew he wouldn't get anything more out of him, at least not right now. With a sigh, he said, "Fine. We'll talk later."
By the time Trip left the armory, his good mood had evaporated, to be replaced by anger. He wasn't mad at Malcolm, he realized, although it was damned annoying that the man wouldn't tell him what was going on. He was mad at T'Pol for causing the problem in the first place. Although he wasn't sure what had happened on that planet, he was positive that Malcolm wouldn't have initiated a break-up.
Trip shook his head when he remembered how Malcolm had put it: "It would be inappropriate for us to pursue a romantic relationship." He realized now why those words sounded so funny coming from Malcolm's mouth. It was obvious that he had been quoting T'Pol.
The more Trip thought about it, the angrier he became, until he finally decided that he had to talk to T'Pol.
After searching fruitlessly in several places, including the bridge, Trip found T'Pol in the science lab, her head bent over a viewer. She looked up briefly when he entered, but then went back to her work without greeting him.
Trip crossed the lab to stand in front of her. "What's going on with you and Malcolm?" he asked without preamble.
T'Pol's head came up slowly. "There is nothing 'going on,' Commander."
"So you just dumped him for no reason?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look, T'Pol, I have eyes, all right. I notice stuff."
T'Pol leveled her frostiest gaze at him "What did you notice, Commander?"
"I know what I saw when I walked into your shelter. Don't try to deny it. Malcolm already admitted it."
There was a long pause. Trip could almost see T'Pol's brain working. Finally she gave a small sigh. "I see. Then why are we having this discussion?"
Trip slammed his fist down on the lab table. "Dammit, T'Pol, why do you two have to be so much alike?"
"In what way?"
"You're both so--so close-mouthed. Getting anything outta you is like pulling teeth."
T'Pol's lips pursed in irritation. "It is none of your concern, Commander."
"Oh, yeah? Well, Malcolm is my friend. I don't know what you did to him, but he's cryin'. You hurt my friend, T'Pol, and that makes it my concern."
"He is crying?" T'Pol's voice was even, inflectionless. She doesn't even care, Trip seethed.
"Yes. You broke him, and so help me God you'd better fix him. The sooner the better." Not trusting himself to say more, Trip spun on his heel and stalked out. He didn't look back, because he had a feeling that if he had to see that smug expression on T'Pol's face a moment longer, he'd wind up smacking her, and that probably wouldn't be good for his career.
After the door had slid shut behind Commander Tucker, T'Pol let her shoulders drop and the emotions she had been suppressing softened her face. "What if I am unable to fix him?" she asked the blank, unfeeling door. "I cannot even fix myself."
**
More to come, soon . . .
**
Chapter 5: Fear of Drowning
Water. Everywhere. He thrashed and fought his way to the surface, a tiny air pocket in a sinking shuttle. He could see her, with her back to him. She was opening the hatch. He tried to call out her name, but was unable to hear his own voice over the roar of the water.
She managed to open the hatch, and swam out, leaving him behind, alone. He tried to follow but could not. His legs felt like they were stuck in cement. He screamed her name again, but again could hear only the roar of the water in response. Then the water closed in over his head, shutting out all sound.
Malcolm woke up with a strangled cry, his covers tangled around his legs and cold sweat soaking through his shirt. For a long moment he just lay still, listening to the sound of his own labored breathing, reminding himself he was still alive.
When he had managed to convince himself it was just a dream, like it had been the last dozen times, he threw off the covers and sat up, rubbing at his scratchy face with his palms. A cup of tea. He needed a cup of tea.
**
T'Pol hesitated outside the door to sick bay. It had been nearly three days since she had returned to Enterprise, and yet she found that, despite extensive meditation, the lack of emotional control which she had experienced while stranded had not disappeared. In fact, if anything, her difficulties had increased since her return to the ship.
She was extremely reluctant to discuss her emotional difficulties with anyone on board. However, it was entirely possible that the symptoms she was experiencing had a purely physical cause. If she were ill, then her illness could perhaps be treated and her symptoms relieved. Weighing the alternatives, she saw no other logical course of action. There was always the possibility that the doctor would diagnose a condition for which there was no cure, but that would also be worth knowing. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the control to open the door to sick bay.
She found the doctor inspecting the animal cages. When he saw her he put down a food dish and smiled brightly at her.
"Sub-Commander, what can I do for you today?"
"I would like you to examine me." T'Pol kept her voice carefully neutral.
"Have a seat." The doctor washed his hands while T'Pol sat primly on the nearest exam table. "What symptoms are you experiencing?" Phlox picked up a scanner from a counter and began to calibrate it.
"My symptoms are not important."
Phlox fixed her with a reproving look. "Sub-Commander, it is difficult for me to perform an appropriate examination if I don't know the patient's symptoms."
T'Pol stared straight ahead. "Very well. Please look for signs of pon farr"
"Ah." The doctor fiddled with the dials on the medical scanner. "And your symptoms?"
"Sleeplessness," T'Pol admitted tonelessly. "Lack of concentration. Irritability. Difficulty with emotional control."
"I see. How long have you had these symptoms?"
"Approximately two weeks and two days."
"Hmm." Phlox frowned at the scanner. "Well, you have none of the hormonal and chemical changes consistent with pon farr. Perhaps if you told me what may have triggered these symptoms?"
"I cannot say."
Phlox set the scanner back down on the counter. "Two weeks ago you were stranded with Lieutenant Reed on an uninhabited planet. Did something happen between you that may be causing your symptoms?"
"It is a private matter," T'Pol evaded.
"Too private to discuss with your doctor?"
"I do not wish to discuss it."
"It may interest you to know that I have been treating Lieutenant Reed for similar symptoms. He also did not wish to discuss any possible cause."
T'Pol did not allow her surprise to show on her face. "It is inappropriate for you to discuss Lieutenant Reed's medical conditions with me."
"Of course. On the other hand, if your symptoms have the same underlying cause. . ."
"Lieutenant Reed's condition is none of my concern. I believe we are finished."
"Would you like me to prescribe a sleep aid?"
"That is not necessary. Good day, Doctor."
As she left sick bay, T'Pol attempted to reason through the situation logically. Premise one: I am experiencing certain symptoms. Premise two: If I am not physically ill, these symptoms must be emotionally based. Premise three: I am not physically ill.
Conclusion: My symptoms are emotionally based.
Further premise one: I am proficient in techniques for controlling emotions. Further premise two: If I faithfully follow these techniques, I will be able to prevent emotions from controlling my actions.
Further conclusion: I will practice techniques to banish emotions. I will not allow my emotions to control my actions.
By the time she reached her final conclusion, T'Pol was outside the door to the science lab. Since she was not due on bridge duty until 1500, she decided to use the time to catch up on the busywork inherent in her position as Enterprise's first officer.
She sat at her immaculate desk and logged in to her workstation. She called up the duty rosters for the coming week. Aeronautics was first, followed by Astrometrics, Communications, and Engineering, all filled in with neat lists of shifts and names. T'Pol scanned down until she reached the roster for Security. It was blank.
T'Pol sat back in her chair and stared at the screen. Lieutenant Reed had not turned in his duty roster. She checked the chronometer: it was 1101. The roster had been due at 0800, which meant that it was over three hours late. In her tenure as first officer, over two years, she had never received a late duty roster from Lieutenant Reed. Commander Tucker, on the other hand, was a different story. She had cautioned the chief engineer for that very infraction on three occasions, and would have placed a written reprimand in his personnel file, had the captain allowed it.
As she stared at the screen, T'Pol decided that she must be even-handed in her treatment of her department heads. She must reprimand Lieutenant Reed. It would be unfair to Commander Tucker to do otherwise.
Thus resolved, T'Pol pushed back her chair and headed toward the armory, where she was sure to find Reed. A small, irrational part of her was glad for the excuse to talk to him. She had been feeling lonely, which was also an irrational reaction, she knew. He had become such a constant presence over the time they were stranded, that she felt almost lost without him.
T'Pol paused a moment in the corridor to regain control of her thoughts. She refused to be controlled by her emotions. Loneliness is illogical; I am sufficient unto myself, she thought. I do not require his presence to be complete.
When T'Pol reached the armory, Ensign Thomas informed her that Lieutenant Reed was working on the phase cannon assembly. She entered the open hatch and found him working alone with his back to her, either disassembling or reassembling a piece of equipment, as pieces were strewn haphazardly around the floor. He apparently did not hear her enter as he continued working and did not turn around.
"Lieutenant," she said brusquely.
He dropped a tool with a clatter, and spun around quickly at the sound of his rank, blinking when he saw her. "Can I help you?" T'Pol noticed that his face as well as his hands were smudged with thick, dark grease.
"You have neglected to turn in your duty roster."
"I haven't finished it yet." He shrugged dismissively.
T'Pol persisted. "It was due today at 0800."
"I've been a little busy, as you can see. This place went to hell in my absence. The phase cannon assembly is in need of serious overhaul." He turned his attention to one of the pieces on the floor.
T'Pol folded her hands tightly behind her back. "Perhaps you can delegate some of the work to members of your crew. That is part of your job as head of security."
Without looking up, Reed said with slight irritation in his voice, "I know what my job is, Sub-Commander." He selected a piece and turned his back to her to affix it to the disassembled phase cannon.
T'Pol watched him in silence for a moment; she could see the muscles in his shoulders rippling under his uniform, and for a brief instant she pictured him shirtless, suntanned, muscles working while he sliced open his first fish. Her eyes traveled to the curls at his neck, and she remembered how soft they felt. She was overtaken with an almost irresistible longing to touch him.
With an effort, T'Pol employed a time-honored technique to banish the emotions that were dangerously close to the surface. When she felt that she was sufficiently under control, she spoke. "When do you think your duty roster might be completed?"
"I don't know, T'Pol," Reed replied in anger so obvious that even T'Pol could read it plainly. "I'm busy here. I'll get to it when I get to it."
T'Pol responded to him with a flash of anger of her own. "Lieutenant, your attitude borders on insubordination," she exclaimed, much more sharply than she had intended
Reed spun around and blinked at her, shock evident on his face. "You're right, I--I'm sorry."
T'Pol sensed his weakness and took a step forward. "Do not think that you can abandon all protocol simply because we have interacted in a less than formal environment. I am your commanding officer, and you will show the proper respect."
Reed just stared at her, swallowing convulsively. Finally he spoke, softly. "Yes, of course, Sub-Commander." His lip twisted briefly, and his eyes dropped to the floor.
As he tipped his head forward, an errant lock of hair slipped down over his forehead. T'Pol felt her breath catch in her throat at the memories it evoked. She was weakening, but refused to give in.
"And Lieutenant," she snapped, replacing the tenderness with irritation.
"Yes?"
"Get a haircut." T'Pol turned on her heel and marched out without looking back.
After she left, Malcolm stood for several minutes rooted in place, gaze fixed on a piece of equipment on the floor. He couldn't quite seem to get his breathing under control, and he discovered that his lower lip was quivering. He pressed his lips together to keep them still. His knees, which felt like jelly, suddenly refused to support his weight.
Malcolm sank down to a sitting position, with his back against the wall. His mind jumped incoherently from one subject to another, his thoughts were jumbled and confused.
He had had relationships fall apart before, had even been dumped a number of times, so he was familiar with the uneasy, empty feeling in his stomach after a breakup. But this . . . this was completely different. It felt like his guts were being ripped out, like he was being torn limb from limb. He didn't understand why it should hurt so badly.
Malcolm told himself firmly to pull it together. There was no reason to fall to pieces over a little thing like this. He told himself to be strong, not to let it affect him so much.
Out of the chaos of his thoughts, a clear image came to his mind, of T'Pol holding his hand to her cheek. He felt her soft skin against his palm, remembered how warm and yielding her lips were when they kissed. He wanted that touch again, so badly it hurt.
The feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelmed him. He drew his knees up and buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking. For the first time since he was six years old, Malcolm Reed began to sob uncontrollably.
**
At 1303 exactly, Trip Tucker entered the armory in a very good mood. His team had managed to get the shuttlepod's engines to fire up at last, and it looked like they might even have the right parts to repair the gaping hole in the hull.
Tucker nodded to Ensign Thomas and ducked into the phase cannon bay where he knew Malcolm would be working. He found the Lieutenant with his back to him, fitting a piece of the assembly casing in place.
"Hey, Mal. You ready to go to lunch?"
Malcolm finished attaching the piece, but didn't turn around. "Er, go on ahead without me. I'm busy here."
"Come on, Malcolm. You need to take a break. I hear they got pineapple upside down cake," Trip wheedled.
"I'm not hungry." Malcolm's voice was rough. Keeping his back to Trip, he leaned over to pick up another piece of the assembly's casing from the floor.
Trip frowned in concern. "Hey, you ok?" He took Malcolm's arm and turned him around. When he spotted the man's red-rimmed eyes, his voice softened. "Are you crying?"
Malcolm shook off Trip's hand. "I'm fine. Just-just leave me alone, please." He started to turn away again, but Trip moved to get in front of him.
"No, I'm not gonna leave you alone, Malcolm. What's going on?"
"It's nothing. I'll get over it."
"It was T'Pol, wasn't it? What'd she do?"
Malcolm just shook his head and ducked around Trip to pick up the piece of casing. Sniffling, he turned toward the wall and fitted the piece into place. When he was finished, he stayed facing the wall.
Trip folded his arms across his chest. "I'm right, aren't I? The ice princess strikes again. I bet she couldn't resist the chance to kick ya while you're down."
Malcolm swiped at his eyes with his forearm. "It wasn't like that. Please just stay out of it, Trip. This doesn't concern you."
"Like hell it doesn't. You're my friend, Malcolm. Come on, talk to me about it."
Malcolm sniffled again and squared his shoulders. When he turned back to face Trip, his eyes were red but dry. "There is nothing to talk about. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do, as I'm sure you do as well."
Trip recognized that stubborn look in his friend's eyes and knew he wouldn't get anything more out of him, at least not right now. With a sigh, he said, "Fine. We'll talk later."
By the time Trip left the armory, his good mood had evaporated, to be replaced by anger. He wasn't mad at Malcolm, he realized, although it was damned annoying that the man wouldn't tell him what was going on. He was mad at T'Pol for causing the problem in the first place. Although he wasn't sure what had happened on that planet, he was positive that Malcolm wouldn't have initiated a break-up.
Trip shook his head when he remembered how Malcolm had put it: "It would be inappropriate for us to pursue a romantic relationship." He realized now why those words sounded so funny coming from Malcolm's mouth. It was obvious that he had been quoting T'Pol.
The more Trip thought about it, the angrier he became, until he finally decided that he had to talk to T'Pol.
After searching fruitlessly in several places, including the bridge, Trip found T'Pol in the science lab, her head bent over a viewer. She looked up briefly when he entered, but then went back to her work without greeting him.
Trip crossed the lab to stand in front of her. "What's going on with you and Malcolm?" he asked without preamble.
T'Pol's head came up slowly. "There is nothing 'going on,' Commander."
"So you just dumped him for no reason?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look, T'Pol, I have eyes, all right. I notice stuff."
T'Pol leveled her frostiest gaze at him "What did you notice, Commander?"
"I know what I saw when I walked into your shelter. Don't try to deny it. Malcolm already admitted it."
There was a long pause. Trip could almost see T'Pol's brain working. Finally she gave a small sigh. "I see. Then why are we having this discussion?"
Trip slammed his fist down on the lab table. "Dammit, T'Pol, why do you two have to be so much alike?"
"In what way?"
"You're both so--so close-mouthed. Getting anything outta you is like pulling teeth."
T'Pol's lips pursed in irritation. "It is none of your concern, Commander."
"Oh, yeah? Well, Malcolm is my friend. I don't know what you did to him, but he's cryin'. You hurt my friend, T'Pol, and that makes it my concern."
"He is crying?" T'Pol's voice was even, inflectionless. She doesn't even care, Trip seethed.
"Yes. You broke him, and so help me God you'd better fix him. The sooner the better." Not trusting himself to say more, Trip spun on his heel and stalked out. He didn't look back, because he had a feeling that if he had to see that smug expression on T'Pol's face a moment longer, he'd wind up smacking her, and that probably wouldn't be good for his career.
After the door had slid shut behind Commander Tucker, T'Pol let her shoulders drop and the emotions she had been suppressing softened her face. "What if I am unable to fix him?" she asked the blank, unfeeling door. "I cannot even fix myself."
**
More to come, soon . . .