By: Keleshnar
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. You guys should know it by now.
A/N: First of all, I'm really that this chapter took so long to get out. I'll try to be better next time, truly!
But now, the conclusion to last chapter – "What is Dr. Phlox's bad news?!" Aren't I evil ;P Just so you know, *~*~*~*~* represents a long time period, and * * * * * (as has been seen before) just represents a short time/scene change. I'm trying to tackle the difficult subject of grief to write about in this chapter, and others to come (aka Trip). For the purpose of this story, Trip's grief is mostly like was portrayed in "The Xindi" and "Anomaly", and not as much like in "The Expanse". This change is the only part of S3 I'm going to be including, though. HMT takes place during the hiatus between S2 and S3 (this makes writing this story both easier and possible). For all of you that have reviewed, thank you (especially to those who have reviewed more than once!), and for all of you that haven't… well, get on it (please)!
Chapter 7: Oddities
Hoshi didn't know what to think. She had evidently successfully tricked herself into thinking that T'Pol's pregnancy would go just perfectly, because she was shocked now to hear that there was bad news. When she though about it, though, it unfortunately made sense that the first interspecies offspring wouldn't go too smoothly. Hoshi was suddenly plagued by terrible images of a decrepit child of Captain Archer and the Sub-Commander, which made her shiver involuntarily and step closer to T'Pol for both of their comforts.
T'Pol, standing next to Hoshi, was waiting for the Doctor to go on. She didn't want to think of any of the possibilities because first, her imagination would make things even worse than they probably were. Second she didn't want Jonathan to feel her emotions, which she was trying especially hard to tamp down at the moment. She knew that during a meeting with Admiral Forrest would be a very bad time for Jonathan to sense that something was wrong.
Doctor Phlox hesitated and asked T'Pol quietly, "Are you sure you want me to share this now?" Even though Hoshi was right next to them and could hear quite clearly, neither of the other two noticed her at that moment.
T'Pol just nodded impatiently – she wanted to know what was wrong with her child quickly so she could try to come up with a solution equally as quickly. She wouldn't let herself accept at this time that there might not be a solution to whatever Phlox was about to tell her.
The Doctor continued slowly, trying to minimize the pain that would come from his next statement. "T'Pol, your child has Pa'Nar Syndrome. I'm sorry." And indeed, he did look it. His normally jovial face was down-turned. This was the one part of being a doctor he didn't like – delivering the bad news.
In that moment, T'Pol felt a totally new emotion – wild panic mixed with fear and shock. She was speechless for a moment while trying to gather her suddenly harried thoughts. Hoshi, meanwhile, was confused.
"Um, Dr. Phlox? What's Pa'Nar Syndrome?" she asked cautiously.
With a look to T'Pol for verification on confidentiality, which she didn't even notice, he began to explain. "It's a degenerative nerve synapse disease in Vulcans that is transferred through mind melds. Here, Ensign, I'll bring up the database page about it so you can read." He ushered Hoshi over to a computer console, typed in a few words and left her to her reading. She knew that this was only partially to inform her – he wanted to deal with T'Pol and her reaction without onlookers.
Doctor Phlox approached the Sub-Commander cautiously because not only did he not want to disturb her, he didn't want any sudden violent feelings taken out on him. He didn't expect her to go to that extreme, but it was a possibility. He walked around so he was facing her and waited for her onslaught of questions to begin.
T'Pol looked up from the spot on the floor that she'd been gazing at while her mind whirred. In a timid voice she asked, "How did this happen?"
This was the most vulnerable that Phlox had ever seen her, so he made extra efforts to consider her condition when answering. "I'm not quite sure… I believe that the unique Human/Vulcan DNA might have made a mind-melding disease into a sexually transmitted disease."
"But that is impossible. The disease is only transmitted by mind melds…"
"Evidently not anymore." Phlox could sense that the logical side of her was being pushed to the front to hide the hurt and tried to think of a way to keep that from happening. That would just bottle up her feelings, which not help her get through them at all.
"Sub-Commander, I will double my efforts of searching for a cure for the syndrome. There are a few plant specimens from that last planet we went to that look promising. I still have more research to do, but the high levels of Trilithium seem to counter-affect the symptoms. You must not give up hope. You and Captain Archer will be the first to know when I find something." That speech seemed to help somewhat because her body language became more relaxed.
"Thank you, Doctor." T'Pol turned to Hoshi, who had finished reading and was walking towards her and the Doctor. They left together, T'Pol answering the younger woman's questions about the Vulcan disease.
When T'Pol came to her quarters after bidding Hoshi goodbye, she sent a mental thought to Archer as she walked through her door and sat down nervously on her bed. 'Jonathan, please hurry.'
* * * * *
That message was sent with earnest, sorrow and fear, and Jon heard it loud and clear. Now he really wanted to end his meeting with the Admiral. They had been discussing a very important matter, but T'Pol and their child by far took priority over a meeting. Jon excused himself as gracefully as was possible, shut down the terminal and practically jumped out his ready room and into the turbolift.
Hoshi was back at her station and barely had time to notice the Captain quickly whisk through the bridge. She sent thoughts of sympathy and strength to them, even though she knew they wouldn't hear. She reminded herself to try extra hard to be supportive, even though she didn't fully understand what was happening.
While in the lift, Jon sent questions and reassurances to T'Pol in between his curses about the lift's slowness. When the doors finally opened on E deck, he made sure no one was in sight and then sprinted down the hall to T'Pol's quarters. She opened them when his hand was an inch off the doorbell, sensing that he was there.
They sat down on her bed and before T'Pol could begin, Jon realized something. "I heard your thoughts – the actual words, not just the feelings associated with them."
"Yes," T'Pol replied. "The link is getting stronger. My strong emotions must have helped carry my thought." Jon realized how much she'd changed in three short months when she freely admitted that she'd had strong emotions. Granted, she was very comfortable around him, but it was definitely a change, and he thought it was for the better.
Jon decided to tell her about his meeting with Admiral Forrest before she told him what she had to say. "My conversation with Admiral Forrest didn't go too badly."
T'Pol sat up straighter to listen to what he had to say. They had decided to ask Starfleet to not send the military squad to Enterprise for the ships protection. Their reasons were that the Human military had no experience in this part of the galaxy, whereas a local military squad would. They would also be better prepared for anything that Enterprise might encounter than humans would be and the aliens might know their way around a little. They'd already met up with a nasty cloud of life forms, and it had taken ejecting burning plasma to get rid of the invaders before the whole crew was eaten alive. Hopefully Starfleet had agreed with their thoughts and would let them find another protective escort. She and Jonathan had their own personal reasons to not wanting more Humans on board, also – they would definitely be opposed to the idea of a Human/Vulcan child, whereas offworlders might not be.
"We're scheduled stop at the next inhabited planets we find to try to hire a group that would be adequate to our needs."
"Planet…s?" T'Pol asked.
"Yes. Starfleet suspected and I agree that we probably won't find what we need on the first planet or two."
"Will it take us off our current course very much?" 'That's T'Pol.' Jon thought. 'Always thinking about her job.'
"No, not very much. And we'll need some help once we get closer to the Xindi, as you know." T'Pol could feel the pain and hate in Jonathan when he said that word. She couldn't fully comprehend how he felt, as Vulcan had never had this tragedy happen, but she could certainly understand to a point. His slight anger, though, was nothing compared to what little she had seen of Trip's anger over the past few months. He had all but become a hermit, keeping to himself and snapping angrily and spitefully at anyone who tried to engage him in conversation.
At what seemed like the logical end of that conversation, T'Pol paused a moment to let the current topic settle and to collect her thoughts. She then began to tell him what was on her mind. "Jonathan, while I was in Sickbay for my checkup, Dr. Phlox had some bad news." She could hear his sharp intake of breath and could feel the worry starting to creep through his consciousness.
"What was the bad news?" T'Pol looked down at her hands but then moved her gaze to Jonathan's, where his eyes were pleading for her to continue.
"Our child has Pa'Nar Syndrome." His first reaction was shock, but all of the other emotions associated with pain and early grief soon followed. He didn't ask how it had happened – that wasn't important. All he knew was that it had happened. He slid his hand over T'Pol's, interlocked their fingers and gave a reassuring squeeze. After a moment she reciprocated the squeeze, moved closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder, needing the physical comfort. When they touched, her emotions of devastation and pain ripped through Jon even more and he maneuvered himself so that she could rest fully on him. They ended up with T'Pol's torso on Jon's chest, one of his arms encircling her, the other on her slightly rounded belly and her arms holding on to his. As they held onto each other for support and comfort, they both thought of what might lay ahead. There was no need to state the fact that because of the disease, their child would now have no chance at all of being accepted among Vulcans – and Humans might not be too much better. Their family could very possibly be isolated from their home worlds and species for the rest of their lives. With these daunting thoughts, the couple drifted into a restless sleep, their only comfort each other.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Trip sat down at one of the many deserted tables in the mess hall, a coffee cup in his hand. The wall chronometer said 0100. He'd started to come here late at night trying to avoid all contact with anyone who thought he needed his or her pity. Also, he couldn't sleep. Four months in the Expanse, and not any closer to revenging his sister's death. Every once in a while he'd realized how antisocial he was being and would miss the interaction, but then he'd remember Lizzie. He hated saying or thinking that – "remembering Lizzie". It made her death too real for him to deal with at all.
He had gone into a slump of depression recently. He hated nights like these where he was so lonesome he could cry. He knew he needed to talk to someone, to get things off his chest, but he couldn't make himself do it. His life seemed to have closed in on him, leaving him no way out. He slumped over the table, sipping his coffee, wishing something would happen to break the monotony that had become his miserable life.
* * *
T'Pol knew it was late. She was awake whether she liked it or not, though, and hunger was starting to grip her stomach, so she decided to go the mess hall. She expected no one to be there – she'd rather not have anyone there to watch her eat since she was four months pregnant and could feel a craving begin to form. She and Jonathan had guessed that a good portion of the crew knew about her pregnancy by now because she had, begrudgingly, started to wear maternity clothes and her abdomen was noticeably swollen.
She was only just able to mask her look of surprise when she walked into the mess hall and saw Trip sipping his coffee and looking down. 'His condition is at a troubling state if he eats at this hour just to avoid social interaction, however painful it might be for him.' She thought as she tried to walk past his table unseen.
Trip saw her though and motioned for her to sit down with him. He wasn't quite sure what he might do; he reasoned that arguing with T'Pol might be a good way to relieve some of his stress from grieving. He'd always enjoyed ruffling her feathers. As she sat down across from him, he noticed her pregnant belly and realized that the rumors going around the ship were true – T'Pol was pregnant. He knew that the only possible father was Jon. These facts made him both happy and angry at the same time. On the one hand, he was happy for them, but on the other hand he was mad that Jon would leave their friendship behind while he went and had a baby with T'Pol. His mind flitted back and forth between happy and angry, and eventually happy won. He'd been angry too much lately, and it was wearing him down. He visibly relaxed, those happy thoughts about the innocence and wonderfulness of children running through his head.
T'Pol, meanwhile, was curiously watching his change. When Commander Tucker asked her, "So how far along are you?" she was startled as took a second before she answered,
"Four months."
"You know what it is yet?" At T'Pol's lifted eyebrow he rolled his eyes and clarified, "The gender."
"No."
She and Jonathan hadn't been able to find an uninterrupted time where they could look at the chromosome analysis to find out the gender.
Right now, though, she and the Commander sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes after their short conversation. Then T'Pol's craving got the best of her and she asked, trying to ignore her grumbling stomach, "Is there any food out?" Meaning, had Chef prepared a midnight snack for anyone who happened to wander in during the very early morning.
"Don't think so. Whatcha want?" Trip surprised himself with how cordial he was being, but he decided not to question it at the moment and just play along.
T'Pol stood up and walked to the drink re-synthesizer, ordering herbal tea. As she walked back to the table she pondered how to phrase her request. "I think I want… what is it called… peanut butter."
Trip's first reaction was to run for it before he threw up. All he could imagine was T'Pol taking a spoon of peanut butter, stirring it around in her tea, and watching as the two ingredients mixed together into an awful brew. 'Tea and peanut butter?!? Eeeuuhww!' He managed to squash that notion down, however, and tentatively told her, "I think there's some in the kitchen." He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to get her that god-awful sounding snack, but he knew better than to get in the way of a woman's cravings.
Trip pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, T'Pol following him, and he started opening cabinets, searching for peanut butter. He opened one particular cabinet, pushed aside a jar of jelly and…
"Here's some! Do you want crunchy or smooth?"
"Excuse me?"
Trip smiled a little – she wanted peanut butter, yet she didn't know the difference between crunchy and smooth. "Smooth is ground until there's no chunks of peanuts, and crunchy has bits of peanuts mixed it."
T'Pol debated the choice within herself for a minute and then decided to make things easy on herself. "I will try both of them."
"Okay." Trip said slightly warily and handed the partially empty jars to her. He realized how very un-Vulcan she had just been when he saw her turn around, a jar in both hand, and march out to their table without another word.
When he closed the cabinet door and walked to the table to sit down, he saw that T'Pol had unscrewed both lids and was sitting there staring at the open jars looking very perplexed. He sat down and looked at her, not sure what to make of the odd situation. Her face scrunched up in uncertainty before she asked,
"How does one eat peanut butter?"
He fumbled for an answer before saying, "Usually not alone." As in on a sandwich.
T'Pol wasn't even going to rebut that she wasn't alone; he was sitting there across from her, but she just kept on looking at him, waiting for a more appropriate answer. When her famous eyebrow rose, he offered another solution.
"With a spoon?"
She nodded slightly, stood up, and walked over to the silverware holder. Trip turned his head to follow her movement, noting that she had taken six spoons.
"Why six? You're only eating two types of peanut butter."
Her look gave him the impression that she was thinking 'uncivilized Humans,' again. "Obviously I don't want to contaminate the jar, which is what I would do if I only had two spoons and wanted another bite."
"Oh…" Trip said softly as she set down all but one of the spoons and poised it in mid-air halfway between the two jars. He watched in almost morbid curiosity as she debated which to try first. His stomach was doing flips; he was unsure of whether he should be grossed out or interested. He finally decided to be somewhere in-between the two and watched with baited breath as she dug her spoon into the crunchy jar and brought the full utensil to her mouth. She tasted a small bite, swallowed, nodded thoughtfully and with a pleased look on her face she finished off her spoonful and grabbed another spoon to dig in with. All Trip could do was shake his head – he had never expected his night to be so… peculiar. As he watched her happily eat, he unconsciously relaxed, the pain moving to the background for the moment. Talking to T'Pol – even just being around another person – had helped him unwind. He decided to try to talk to the crew more again. Painful though he knew it would be, he also knew it was a step in the right direction.
Cont…