NOTES: This doesn't really qualify as a story; it's just a little scene I had to get out. The title is based as much on my frustration as that of any of the characters. I know the T'Pol/Trip fans seem to outnumber the T'Pol/Archer fans, but please be kind--it's my first post here.

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek Enterprise and all thing associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: Everthing up to Damage

RATING: PG, for language

FRUSTRATION

Despite the successful acquisition of a new warp coil, there were still plenty of systems down in Engineering. With Medical safe, propulsion, weapons and sensors had been the obvious priorities, but the secondary systems needed to be online to keep the primary systems running smoothly. When Trip had requested a portable scanner to test the accuracy of one of the reconstructed diagnostic devices in the bowels of Engineering, he was surprised it was T'Pol who'd come to deliver it.

She was all business. After the heavy casualties in Engineering and stealing another ship's warp coil, even sharing the tight space of the accessway with the petite Vulcan could not inspire Trip to distraction. Still, there was something that had been bothering him. Every member of the crew mattered; and now was not the time to let potentially critical problems slide. If he was the only one who'd noticed their second in command's judgment might be impaired, it was his duty to pursue the matter.

As they wrapped up the testing, Trip awkwardly cleared his throat. "T'Pol, I've been meaning to ask..." She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, Commander." She returned her gaze to the scanner.

"Well, you sure didn't seem fine a few days ago."

She gave him a fleeting glance. There was a hint of something there, pain or perhaps guilt. "I have consulted with Doctor Phlox, and my...condition is improving. Thank you for your concern."

So she was sick? "Condition? What happened? When the Cap'n left, you--"

"I'd rather not discuss it," she said blandly.

"Why? T'Pol, if something's wrong--"

"There are more pressing concerns on this ship than my physical health." There was still no emotional inflection in her voice, but she said this quietly as she reattached the remote sensor and deactivated the scanner.

He took her shoulder with his free hand and turned her to face him. "It's not your physical health that seemed to be the problem, T'Pol. You might be able to fool the rest of the crew, but ya can't fool me. No matter how you might try to justify it, you were not behaving logically. And that one time, I'd swear your eyes were red--like you'd been cryin'."

She met his gaze with a hint of fire in her eyes and defiance in her voice. "Vulcans do not cry."

"It was almost as if--"

Her shoulders hunched slightly as she looked away. "It is hardly relevant, especially given our current situation."

"The hell it isn't!" Trip gave her a shake. "You should tell him!"

"She should tell what to whom?"

"Cap'n!" Trip hastily released T'Pol's shoulder.

The light behind the Captain silhouetted him, preventing Trip from seeing his face clearly. "The comm's down, again, so I thought I'd come, myself." His voice seemed almost too mild, given the tension that seemed to constantly radiate from him since his return.

T'Pol straightened, her eyes emotionless mirrors once more. "Commander Tucker was expressing his concern for my health, Captain."

"You haven't been yourself." The Captain's silhouette nodded. "Perhaps you should see Doctor Phlox."

"I have already consulted him and am feeling...better."

"In that case, there are new scans on the bridge that need analyzing."

"Of course. I will return at once."

So she might reach to the main catwalk, T'Pol and the Captain had to turn sideways, nearly touching in the narrow confines of the accessway. Trip noticed she didn't meet the Captain's eyes. That the Captain raised his hand but stopped, as if tempted to touch her as she passed, was made obvious by the light silhouetting him. Once she was gone, the Captain turned back to his Chief Engineer.

"Listen, Trip, if your personal affairs are going to affect--"

"My what?!" Trip had been trying to swallow the lump in his throat and nearly choked. "I-- We-- T'Pol and I are not having a 'personal affair!'"

"It's really none of my business." The silhouette shrugged.

"Well maybe it should be!" In the distance, Trip saw Lt. Whitefeather look up from his console and turn in their direction.

"What do you mean?"

With effort, Trip lowered his voice. "Sure, I've gotten closer to T'Pol since we started our sessions, so maybe I can read her better than other people," he hissed, vehemently poking himself in the chest with his free hand. "But she didn't resign her commission for me, and that's for damn sure!"

Not wanting to discuss it further, Trip pushed past his Captain to the catwalk railing. "Park!" he barked, mentally chiding himself for the harshness of his tone. Lord knew, his crew had enough on their hands without having to deal with a cranky Chief. He drew a deep breath and forced a smile to his lips. "Catch," he said, tossing her the spanner in his hand. "You take over. I'm going to the galley." He raised his voice, knowing he would make it sound congenial despite the frustration boiling in his gut. "I'll be sure to bring back somethin' for y'all." With a reassuring wave, he left the engine room, resisting the urge to storm down the halls.