Chapter 5 – Wallflowers

It was obvious from the festivities, that the Aviarians enjoyed a good party.  They seemed to delight in the alien music from the human homeworld, Earth.  Several Aviarians had asked crew members to show them the dance steps that accompanied the music from various eras of human history. 

Archer seemed to think that their guests had a particular affinity to the bright, catchy tunes from the big band era.  They had flocked to the dance floor, and though well past midnight, did not seem to want to end the party any time soon. 

The Vulcan's were another story entirely.  Now that most of the conversations taking place were between couples on the dance floor, most of the Vulcans had departed.  To them, the dinner had been obligatory, especially while diplomatic relations could be furthered.  Given Vulcan reasoning, dancing was probably not conducive to either gathering information or diplomacy.  Lacking the experience, Vulcan's underestimated how much you can learn from your partner during an intimate conversation while dancing. 

Archer contemplated his two senior officers.  They sat across the table looking at each other, busy trying to avoid making eye contact.  In Jon's mind, he pictured Trip and T'Pol on opposite sides of a junior high gym - like a couple of wallflowers at a Sadie Hawkin's eighth grade dance.  He knew that any developments between the two would most likely cause him a headache of galactic proportions.  Archer's face broke into a wide grin.  He never was one for playing it safe.  At least there would be headaches enough to share in both the hallowed halls of Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council.  It was their idea to put a Vulcan on a human ship, right?

The distance across the table might as well be just as wide.  Jon noted that the wife of one of the diplomats was sitting looking rather longingly at the dance floor while her inattentive husband was chatting with others on the far side of the room.  A plan started to formulate in the captain's mind.  Maybe with a little space, his two officers would come to an understanding of sorts. 

Archer put his plan into action by standing up and striding to the far end of the table.  Jon smiled at the shocked looks from both officers.  It was a look he'd expect from a couple of kids being told by the chaperon that he was ditching them and handing them a bottle of booze to spike the punch.  He held out his arm to the abandoned wife, who graciously accepted the offer.  He proceeded onto the dance floor without a backward glance.  

It was no surprise that Trip was the one who finally broke the silence.  "Thought that you might head in for the night when your Vulcan pals decided to ditch the party."  Oh hell, Trip inwardly grimaced.  How did he always seem to manage to end a conversation before he had even started it with T'Pol?

She looked him directly in the eye with that unnerving, unblinking gaze of hers.  "Captain Archer is my superior officer and the Enterprise is my ship.  As such, it would be inappropriate as a senior officer to leave a ship's function prior to the captain taking his leave."  Tucker could feel his frustration rising as it did every time that T'Pol spouted off with something in that maddeningly reasonable tone of hers.  And it was a twist of the knife that it always seemed in retrospect that she simply was stating the obvious.  What did he expect her to say?  I can't leave as long as you are here?  I've missed you so?  Would you like to dance?

"Would you like to dance?"  Trip himself heard the words and was so taken aback that his mouth shut with an audible snap.  He'd really put his foot in it now.

T'Pol had avoided this moment all week, by avoiding the commander.  To this point, it had been a successful.  Though, she now realized, it was a somewhat deluded plan on her part.  Unless she left Enterprise immediately, she assumed that her concerns about her relationship with Commander Tucker would be confirmed.  The signs of her continuing 'link' with the commander did not abate.  She had been disturbed several times during the week by odd thoughts.  She had startled the captain at dinner by adding sugar to her iced tea.  And twice during the week she had used a contraction in discussions with the crew.  Though she was sure that the crew did not note it, her lapse in proper grammar startled T'Pol.

And, at a distance she could sense his – what would humans call it – mood?  Feelings?  Nothing so specific as exact thoughts.  Though she did not know the cause, she sensed the commander's frustration prior to the party and acted on it, suggesting to Reed that Mr. Tucker might need assistance.  The generic suggestion had been adopted with seemingly no suspicions on the armory officer's part.  Within a quarter of an hour, she felt the chief engineer's mood lighten.  Fifteen more minutes and he was standing in the doorway of the mess, thinking that she looked beautiful. 

And she had been pleased, as well as discomfited by her pleasure, which was supremely illogical. 

She was concerned, too, that in close proximity, T'Pol was able to read some of his more emphatic thoughts.  So, she had avoided contact for most of the evening.  She barely had the needed time to contemplate the events of a week ago.  And the possibility that they had initiated a bonding, that at least for Vulcan's, was irreversible.  Her people so zealously guarded the rituals of their mating practices, that she was sure that the commander had no idea of the implications, both interpersonal and interplanetary, for either of them.  Well at least in a few moments she would not be alone in her concerns.  Trip would be aware as well. Once she took this step, she was doubtful that there would be many options. 

Well heck, thought Trip, if she didn't want to dance with me, she could at least simply say no and stop starin' a hole in me.  Oddly, at that moment, T'Pol closed her eyes. 

Yes, I would be…pleased to dance with you.

Really?  Slightly flabbergasted at the affirmative, Trip did not immediately grasp, as he responded to T'Pol's reply – that she had agreed to dance with him - without moving her lips.

They both started to stand and T'Pol moved around the table to pause directly in front of the commander. 

I'm not normally a bad dancer, but with this leg…  Wait a cotton-pickin' second.  I heard ya', but your lips aren't moving.  How are you doing that? 

T'Pol thought her answer right back to her partner.  The same way you are, commander.  Now, we should proceed to the dance floor or we will draw unwanted attention. 

Still befuddled, the commander held out his hand and T'Pol firmly grasped it.  He was not sure who was leading whom onto the dance floor. 

On the other side of the room, Malcolm and Hoshi were observing the other couple's progress as they entered the dance floor.  Whispering, they put their heads together.

"That leg of his is still stiff, Lieutenant.  Do you think that we could make a request to play something a little slower for them?"

Reed felt Hoshi's breath on his neck as she questioned him.  It was doing wild and wonderful things to his heartbeat.

"Malcolm, call me Malcolm – especially when you're out of uniform."  He looked at her appreciatively and added with a theatrical flair, "And you are most definitely out of uniform."  Hoshi blushed but covered it up by gently chucking him in the arm. 

"Malcolm, ask the ensign playing DJ to pick something slow – and romantic."

"Indeed.  Your wish is my command."  He grinned expectantly. 

"For them, you goof."  Ok, for us too, Hoshi smiled to herself.  She'd have to ask the Aviarians about acquiring more of this fabric.  It would make quite a stunning negligee. As Malcolm returned, he caught Hoshi deep in thought.  He just hoped that whatever she was cooking up involved him.

The music stopped and then resumed just as Trip and T'Pol arrived on the dance floor.  As the strains of muted brass instruments floated around them, Trip sent up an unspoken thanks to whoever chose this particular tune.  With his leg stiff and still in a brace, 'Moonlight Serenade' by the Glenn Miller Orchestra was just perfect.  He looked around briefly before wrapping one arm around T'Pol's slim waist.  Thankfully, she was the only Vulcan still at the reception.  He wasn't ready to make explanations to the Vulcan delegation.  One of T'Pol's hands alighted on Trip's shoulder.  The Commander captured her other hand in his and tucked it close to his chest. 

Their link was strong and though familiar with the music, even T'Pol was astonished at how natural the steps were.  It was if she had done this many times before.  It was the link.  As they danced, she felt his questions and greeted them with what little she knew or had been able to surmise over the last week. 

Trip was amazed at the information that passed between them, and how quickly he was able to assimilate it.  Lifemates?  Bonded?  He knew that he should be running scared, but in fact he was awed at what he was learning about T'Pol, and what she felt about him.  And she did feel.  It was heady, to experience the emotions that someone felt about you.  In sharing this information, T'Pol was sharing herself with him, intimately, and amazingly in a room crowded with people.  Maybe it was the knowledge of this connection; this intimate awareness of another's emotions, which in all other aspects of Vulcan life were suppressed, that caused the Vulcan's to so carefully guard the specifics of these same intimate relationships. 

And she shared her uncertainty, her vulnerability, as to whether he would feel compelled by the bond in the same way she did. 

Maybe, biologically, he was not bonded in the same way that a Vulcan would be.  There was no way for either of them to know this in the short term.  But the very human emotions that flowed through him and then reflected back to him by T'Pol's thoughts, made him feel a connection to her that he had experienced with no other.  With that thought, the music ended and they broke the connection and stood back from one another. 

For a moment, the absence of the connection left a void in Trip.  Like his heart was beating in T'Pol's chest and he had nothing left to sustain himself.  After a moment of panic, T'Pol sensing Trip's distress, touched his face for a moment, soothing the parting. 

As they both came back to themselves, they realized they were alone on the dance floor.  The other dancers had encircled them and applauded gently for the couple that had danced so in tune with the other that none could tell where one partner began and the other ended. 

Slightly nonplussed at the attention, Trip parted from T'Pol and said, "Oh and uh, Subcommander, I'll see you at the, uh, mission briefing tomorrow at 0800 in the Captain's ready room."

"Indeed, Commander,' replied T'Pol. 

The commander turned unsteadily and exited the reception, leaving many pairs of questioning eyes boring holes into his back. 

Malcolm turned to Hoshi.  "I'd better tag along and make sure that Fred Astaire makes it back to his room in one piece, Hosh. I don't think that his feet have touched the ground yet."  He squeezed her hand and smiled.  "And as the Commander so romantically put it, see you at 0800 tomorrow."  Reed turned and followed the commander out of the mess hall. 

Hoshi contemplated Malcolm with a smile.  At least his mother raised a gentleman.  He leaves a party with the same partner that he brought to it.  And she sighed.

TBC…