"I just hate to think of what's happenin' there without me," Trip said, finally ending his diatribe on Enterprise's refit, which was being done without his help. He talked of little else, and T'Pol knew that he was upset at the captain's "order'' that he take shore leave. But she also knew that it would greatly benefit the commander to have some time away from the ship. The months in the Expanse had worn him – and the rest of the crew, including her – down. Even now, though he may have said otherwise, she could see that the break was improving his mood.
"Commander," T'Pol said, lowering her mug of tea, "the repair crew is more than capable of refitting Enterprise without your supervision."
He only looked slightly annoyed as he stirred his plo'mik soup. "That's what the cap'n said."
"Captain Archer has been known to be correct, on occasion."
He glanced up at her, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were makin' a joke." He lifted a spoonful of soup, then tilted the spoon, allowing the contents to drip back into the bowl. It was not the first time he had done that, and the action irritated T'Pol.
It was that irritation, more than anything, that prompted her next remark. "Then it appears that you do not know any better, Commander."
He set his spoon down and looked at her, folding his arms on the table. He didn't look angered by her comment. In fact, he looked concerned, which only served to irritate her further, something that she could not explain. "Is everythin' okay? You've been actin' kinda funny today."
She debated how best to answer that question. On the surface, she and Trip were having a rather pleasant trip so far. Though he had spent much of the first three days avoiding her, for reasons she had yet to determine, she was beginning to enjoy the journey. During their time in the Expanse, most of the time she spent with him was work-related – except for their neuro-pressure sessions – and she found herself illogically missing that one-on-one time. She had been looking forward to being alone with him without explosions, alien encounters, or attacks to interrupt them.
Yesterday, when she had gone to his quarters to learn why he was avoiding her, he had touched her face. She felt the consequences of that seemingly unconscious action still. He had almost, unwittingly, opened his mind to her – an act that would have been irreversible and unforgivable. The brief contact had given her a glimpse into his mind before she realized what was happening and put up her mental defenses. He removed his fingers from her face, and neither had mentioned the incident.
He was still staring at her, waiting for her response. "I am," she searched for the correct term, "concerned with how my mother will react to your presence."
She was uncertain as to why she lied. Lying was a practice in which she did not often engage, but she found it necessary at that moment to conceal the truth from him. Mostly because even she was unsure of what the truth was, but also because she did not want to discuss such a topic in the presence of other Vulcans.
For a second, she was afraid that he didn't believe her. Then his face split into a wide grin. It had been quite some time since she had seen such a genuine smile on his face. She had greatly missed his smile. "Don't worry," he said. "Moms love me."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow, which only made his grin wider. "You have never met a Vulcan mother."
He shrugged. "Guess not. But it can't be much different than meetin' a human mom, can it? Just assure her that I have nothin' but the best intentions toward her daughter – "
She tensed, quickly glancing about to make sure no one had overheard their conversation. The commander broke off in the middle of his sentence and didn't finish his thought. He picked up his spoon and returned to stirring his soup. She would have given anything to wipe the look of dejection from his face. When he spoke again, he sounded hurt. "I was jokin', T'Pol. I'd never say anythin' to your mom."
"I know, Commander," she said. "However, it is not prudent to joke about such things."
He sighed heavily. "Yeah, sure. Don't want the wrong people overhearin' us, now do we? Bad enough half of Enterprise talks about us."
T'Pol leaned forward on her elbows, closer to Trip, so that she could lower her voice. Hopefully, her next words would be too quiet for even Vulcan ears to hear. "I am unconcerned with the crew of Enterprise. The rumors they have spread are not unfounded. But my people are not as open-minded as yours, Commander. Their reaction would not be advantageous to our situation."
He cocked an eyebrow at that and leaned forward to meet her halfway across the table. "And what is our situation, Subcommander?"
She hesitated, guilty of the very human slip of the tongue. She regained her senses as quickly as she could manage and gave him a look as if the answer should be obvious. "We still have twenty days on this shuttle."
Trip sank back in his chair. The dejected look had returned full force. "Right."
When he left to clear their plates, she took a breath to compose herself. She was beginning to rethink her decision to invite him. What had she been thinking?
The answer was evident. She hadn't been thinking.