Chapter Seven

            Trip Tucker was bored out of his mind. Travelling at Warp 1.3 was, in his opinion, the worst sacrilege that could be committed on Henry Archer's warp five engines. This ship was prepared to cruise the galaxy. Not putt along behind a cargo freighter out of fear of some pirates.

Time seemed to progress in an excruciating, leisurely fashion. He could now understand how Travis ended up with such a 'cut' physique. There was virtually nothing to do but work out until you dropped and then work out some more.

He signed off on the last set of routine maintenance reports with a dilatory sigh, then shrugged out of his uniform and headed to the gym. It was a bit late; he'd been working the six to midnight in hopes of 'spicing' up the routine, but to no avail.

When he beeped open the door from the men's locker room he stopped short with a very impolite stare. In the dead centre of the gym, on the hard, steel decking, was Sub-Commander T'Pol out proving exactly why she'd been picked for active operations duty with the Vulcan Ministry of Security.

As he stood there slack-jawed and gawping, she pirouetted, cut, and slashed the air into ribbons. Her hands were moving so fast as she practiced her forms, they hissed as she almost flew into technique after technique.   

"Holy hell sweetheart, remind me to never piss you off" Trip drawled as son as he got his voice from whence it had fled.  Seemingly unsurprised at his comment, T'Pol finished her workout with a breathtaking set of kicks, stretching her legs to a point that made him wince.

"I have never had cause to raise a hand in anger Mr. Tucker; I don't intend to start now." All that movement, all that energy, and she hadn't even broken a sweat. Her tank top and loose workout pants were as fresh as daises. Damn Vulcan. 

"I sure hope so, Sub-Commander, 'cause no one I know could stop you if you put a mind to it." He set his towel, water bottle, and weightlifting chart down on the first of the multi-position machines. It distressed him more than he was willing to admit, when he realized the very petite woman was probably his physical superior.  

"Violence is a puerile reaction to any situation. It can only be justified as an extreme last resort in a circumstance gone out of control" she joined him, at the next machine over, wiping it down before sitting on the padded bench. The comment rankled him, if violence was so 'puerile' why was she practicing it?

"So you just practice snappin necks for yer health, right?" he began to angrily pump more weight than he should on his right bicep. To his sheer and utter disbelief and amazement, she set her own weight even higher and began to curl with no apparent effort.

"Yes, actually, it's an exceptionally disciplined art. It takes a great deal of physical and mental focus to accomplish true mastery." As he grunted though a sloppy set of ten, she breezed through a much faster, more technical set of fifty.

Waiting for her to throw in the jibe about his 'needing discipline' or something along those lines, he switched to the other arm and threw out another weak set of curls. 

"So yer sayin' I'm not disciplined is that it?" he needled, finally unable to handle the surprisingly congenial silence.

"I don't recall you ever coming up in the conversation," T'Pol said, but not in her usual tone of slightly condescending hauteur, but sounding faintly confused and more than a little thoughtful.   

Not quite believing what he saw, Trip completed his set and went for a shoulder press. Again putting on more weight than he should, he was further dismayed by the five-foot nothing tiny little Vulcan who not only pressed more weight, she nearly doubled it.

"Well that's what you meant wasn't it?" he goaded further, his mouth running away as his mind screamed at him to let it be. God bless. Why did he do this? Every single solitary time he saw her he provoked her with no reason at all. It galled him almost as much as he was sure it annoyed her.

"Not at all" her face got a kind of funny look on it, one he couldn't readily identify, and she looked away from him, almost as if he'd hurt her feelings, if she ever had feelings to hurt.

They worked in an almost companionable silence. For every set of weights he lifted, curled, or pressed she not only doubled the weight, but also did more reps with less effort. Pushing himself beyond his limits had no effect; she continued to lift with the same, precise action.

"Jesus Christ T'Pol, that's near three times your body weight, I don't care what you are, that is too much for you to handle." He exclaimed as she laid down flat to bench press. He'd moved up behind to spot her, before he realized he was hopeless as a safety, there was no way he could conceivably 'catch' the bar if she lost control. 

"I am Vulcan; my physical strength far exceeds that of a human of my size and weight. I have also been in active training at my peak of ability for…a very long time." She placed her hands carefully on the bar, and, to his astonishment, lifted the weight as though there was nothing there.

"Can all of you bench press small aircraft?" he was only half in jest. She finished her first set and slid the weights off so that he could take her place.

"I am very… strong for someone of my species. Although there are not many who choose a path of serious weight training, it is something I have worked on for many years." She frowned slightly as she glanced over his lifting book. The weight he'd set now was in excess of the maximum he'd ever pressed.

"So in other words yes, right?" he deliberately pulled off his shirt, wanting to get some kind of reaction out of her. From his vantage, looking up he could see that her nostrils were flaring but she held her tongue.

"Yes" She agreed, trying for once to not conflict with Trip. It just seemed to aggravate him more, a curious reaction. He grunted, sweated, and strained but he did manage to lift and press the bar.           

The second press was not a lucky. Halfway up his arms, already abused, gave way. Reacting swiftly, she easily caught and lifted the bar back to the rest. The failure reddened his already florid complexion.

"Son of a bitch" he swore, getting up off the bench and massaging his chest muscles. "Damn, bastard…."

"Swearing will not help you lift what are not able to handle" T'Pol removed the excess weight, setting the flat discs down in the rack. "You deliberately put more weight on than you could safely hoist. Why?" 

"What the hell business is it of yours?" he shouted, furious at her, himself, just angry. The anger needed an outlet. T'Pol was convenient. 

"I do not wish for you to injure yourself."

"Of course you don't, little miss perfect, you'd never 'wish' for me to injure myself. You can't wish for anything. You're a Vulcan. You just sit in your 'inferior' science station, hangin' out with us stinky humans, and prove just how faultless Vulcans can be. You never get tired, you never get bored, you don't get excited, you just sit there and compute like a good little machine." As he said each word, he moved closer and closer in until he was standing practically on top of her, sweaty, and shouting.

"I am far from perfect. I do have aspirations for myself. I am neither infallible nor do I believe Enterprise is in any way substandard. However," she lifted her face from his chest level to look him squarely in the eye, "you do smell."

Her reaction was more along the lines of what he expected, but she just wasn't going to give in to his anger. She called him on it.

"Well you could have fooled me. Tell me, T'Pol since when did you realise you're not all that?" Irked at her, he sprayed water all over his chest, deliberately splashing her with the sweaty, salty fluid.

"Since I came aboard this ship I have come to realise many things, first and foremost of which is my own lack of understanding. Yours is a rich and complex society. My people have always dealt with you from a position of strength, not equality, and I find that they have underestimated your ability." She paused to wipe her face with her towel. 

"I am not here to lord over you with superiority, but to learn from you. You are not angry with me Mr. Tucker, you are angry at my people for not comprehending your strength" she bent over, picked up his weight book, and handed it to him, "When you have calmed down, we can discuss this further. Right now you are not fit for civilized conversation"

He opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again but nothing came out. For once in his life, he was speechless. What she said was not what he was expecting to hear. His brain finally kicked in and he left for the locker, wondering what had just happened.

T'Pol watched him go with a mixture of trepidation and apprehension. She walked over to the treadmill and set it for a light, steady pace. Running was something of a meditation, her mind tended to wander while she moved.

The speech she'd just made to Trip hadn't been planned. Her mouth simply opened and the words just flowed out. It alarmed her to some extent, her lack of control, but still she was not dissatisfied with what she said. It was the truth, the bald and unvarnished truth, perhaps, but the truth nonetheless.

She only hoped the Commander had been sensible enough to realise it.

This socializing as equals was a difficult thing to accomplish. She understood Mr. Reed far better now; he found the process as difficult as she did. Though she did notice, some humans were better at it than others were. Jon, for example, was adept at interacting with the crew while maintaining his rank, as was Commander Tucker, with one notable exception. Namely herself.

Her thoughts of Jon, no longer 'the Captain' in her mind, spurred her to a greater pace as she ran. He was, in a very slow and respectful manner, seeking her favour. Not yet courting her or perhaps he was and just being circumspect enough to make her at ease about it. The realization of that wasn't as disturbing as it should have been.

A sudden cough caught the edge of T'Pol's sensitive hearing. She turned to face the sound and her eyes widened as she encountered Ensign Sato in the machine not two feet on her left. The Ensign had clearly been there for some time, her face shined with sweat. 

"Hoshi" she said, unable to contain a note of surprise.

"Hi" the young woman responded, "Couldn't sleep, thought I'd wear myself out a bit before trying again."

"I could not sleep either." T'Pol admitted. Insomnia had snuck up on the Vulcan.  She did not want to have another nightmare when she did sleep so she worked herself physically until her body shut down from exhaustion. She ended up too tired to dream.

"You looked busy," remarked Hoshi nonchalantly, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you"

"Quite the contrary, I was wholly unaware of your presence," Another lapse in her discipline. Any respectable Vulcan would be castigating himself severely. T'Pol shrugged mentally; she wasn't a respectable Vulcan anymore and given her situation a certain lack of attention wasn't the end of the world.

"Anything I can help you with?" Hoshi asked, mindful of a difference in T'Pol. She was a linguist, an expert in communication. Right now T'Pol was communicating her preoccupation with something by a basic inattention to her surroundings that was uncharacteristic of the usually meticulous woman.

It was on the tip of T'Pol's tongue to say, "No thank you Ensign", but Jon's admonishment to 'help us help you' and her knowledge of Hoshi made her pause. "Actually…."

"Yes?"

"Mr. Tucker was just in here…" She briefly and concisely related the substance of their conversation. "I confess I am quite unable to fathom his behaviour"

"You said that about us?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes"

"And you meant it?"

"It was not premeditated, however I would not have said what I did if I did not believe it."

"Wow" Hoshi slid to a stop on her treadmill. "You know every time I think I have you figured out…" she chuckled, "Well I'm glad, very glad, that…well that you like us. Humanity I mean."

"Would I still be on this ship if I did not appreciate humanity?" T'Pol asked wryly.

"Probably not, but it's still remarkable to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak."  Hoshi motioned her over to the weight benches that she and Commander Tucker had shared not long ago.

"Does the rest of the crew share Mr. Tucker's opinion of my…superiority?" T'Pol asked, now concerned.

"Well…" Hoshi sat down, "Yes and no. I think everybody recognises that you are the single most intelligent person on the ship. Now whether or not someone sees this as a good thing or as an insult is kinda, subjective." 

"You didn't answer the question," T'Pol pointed out.

"No" Hoshi answered. "They don't. But then again Trip probably has always had the hardest time accepting you." 

"Why? Beyond the inescapable burden of my species."

"You want the God's honest truth?" she asked.

"Yes"

"He's jealous"

"Of…?"

"You. Your intellectual prowess. Your physical ability. Your…closeness with Jon."

"And this causes him to behave like a…t'vareth"  T'Pol did not know the word in English for 'undisciplined runt' and she clearly didn't want to address the issue of Jonathan Archer.

Hoshi laughed. "Yeah… a t'vareth. You gotta understand, he comes from a long family of Florida shore men, they're great folks but not the most intellectual or refined people in the world. Everything about you, your manners, your education, your reserve it just reminds him of what he's not."

"Why would he want to be something he's not?"

"Jon"

Hoshi could see again in T'Pol's face that he wasn't a topic of conversation she wanted to explore. Hoshi got up off the bench and smiled, "C'mon, why don't we get cleaned up, get comfortable, and have some tea."

T'Pol's brow arched, but she gamely got up and left the gym. Hoshi went to the locker room. As she showered, she wondered how to move towards the topic. The Vulcan wasn't exactly easy to sound out with something like this.

She changed and made her way swiftly to the mess hall. T'Pol wasn't there. Briefly, she entertained the thought that the older woman wasn't going to show but decided to hang around for a while.

Sure enough, the door slid back just as Hoshi got two mugs of tea from the protein re-sequencer. Her hair was wet and spiky and she wore pale green loose trousers and a deep green over robe with simple sandals.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here." Hoshi said.

T'Pol sat and accepted the proffered tea. Sipped, then remarked, "This is caffinated, you won't sleep tonight if you drink it." 

"That's alright, there's only a few more hours until I would have had to get up anyhow." She crossed her legs, and arched her brow at the Vulcan "You don't want to talk about Jon"

"What does my relationship with the Captain have to do with Mr. Tucker?"

"Everything" T'Pol frowned. Hoshi tried to explain. "You know until you came along Jon and Trip were inseparable. Even afterwards, before you and Jon worked out your differences. He felt ok. Lately, well lately, I think when you went off on that secret mission and Jon went with you. He didn't tell Trip what it was all about."

"I asked him not to"

"And he didn't." Hoshi sighed, "But Trip felt alienated. He's threatened by you."

"He has no reason to be" T'Pol interjected.

"Really?" Hoshi asked.

The insinuation was clear and the meaning even clearer, as her relationship with the Captain deepened, Mr. Tucker would grow more and more volatile. Again, it disturbed T'Pol to assume her relationship with Jon was going to deepen. However, it was an assumption she made easily.

"I could yet live a full two centuries among your people, and I believe I may well understand them less than I do now." T'Pol sat back and just shook her head.

"Quite probably, we don't even understand ourselves sometimes." Hoshi smiled, "For us, I suppose, it's the journey that counts."

"Indeed"

T'Pol reflected silently on her inadvertent experiment. On Jon's advice, she had deliberately chosen to be open and non-confrontational with Mr. Tucker. He had reacted with suspicion, anger, and borderline violence. She had done the same with Hoshi, of her own volition, and the woman had been discreet, supportive, and helpful. It seemed as though Jon's suggestion was a sort of double-edged blade.

"Thank you Hoshi" T'Pol finally responded, after a long silence "I will consider your advice"

"Anytime"

They sat in a surprisingly companionable silence for a long time, until Hoshi at last finished her tea and got up. "Good night, T'Pol"

"Good morning Ensign"

She laughed, "Yeah that too"