Plan B – 3

A/N: Dennis, you have nothing to worry about. Showing canon is more or less the plan. Thanks to everyone's encouragement. Hope you like this chapter.

As Trip wandered out of Decon with Reed, he was instructed by Dr. Phlox to meet him in Sickbay. The Southerner had higher than usual radiation levels, thanks to what he'd heard the captain mention were some sneaky Romulans, and for once the blonde engineer couldn't argue with being asked to slow down. Although joking with Malcolm, he'd teetered a few times as he'd stripped off the piles of EV suit layers to get down to the bare essentials. Truth was, he felt tired, achy and sweaty – all symptoms of radiation poisoning.

Staring up at a white ceiling, Trip tolerated the scanner held at temple-level.

"You done, Doc?"

"Just about," he said.

Trip heaved a short sigh as the doctor "hmmm"ed a few times before finally revealing the results. Snapping the scanner to his over-abundant side, Phlox's eyes extinguished the jollity that usually twinkled in them.

"You have extremely high levels of radiation. Any longer, and you may not be here."

Trip shrugged. "Just lucky I guess."

The doctor shook his head. "Commander, I'd like you to give up your normal duties and relax a bit. I think two days should be sufficient."

Trip propped up on his elbows quick to dismiss the man, when the doctor added a few more words, wagging his fingers. "You could've died."

Somehow the words fell on deaf ears. These days he was always close to dying – hell, everyone was: mutant silicon viruses, super-humans ready to kick some ass, interstellar war between the Vulcans and Andorians … being on Enterprise constantly put them at jeopardy. It was a miracle very few had perished yet, especially in the Expanse.

Seeing the doctor's face all tensed up, he decided to acquiesce. "I guess I could've."

He sat up slowly and began putting his clothes back on while making small talk. "So, anything happen while I was gone?"

Phlox tapped his chin a few times and then beamed. "Well, Talas died …."

"Talas? Geez. That's too bad."

"Commander Shran was quite upset. Apparently, the two were … mated."

It's funny, he'd heard about that, but somehow still figured the woman had the hots for his buddy Malcolm.

"Anything else?" he asked. Zipping up his uniform he expected to head out, when he heard a litany of other surprising news.

"Shran challenged the Tellarite who killed her to a duel – a fight to the death, the captain offered to fight in his place and to prevent the captain from meeting his doom, T'Pol married Captain Archer."

As the words about T'Pol fell from the Denobulan's lips, Tucker nearly caught his finger in his own zipper.

"Wait a minute. Could you run that by me again?" he asked.

"I said Shran challenged the Tellarite who killed Talas to a …."

"Can we just skip to the last part?"

Phlox looked off into the corner remembering what he said. "Oh, yes! T'Pol married Captain Archer."

The commander's face fell. "I don't understand."

"According to Andorian ritual, the only way that the captain could've avoided a fight was to have no heirs and become married. Commander T'Pol satisfied that condition."

"I thought she just got divorced."

Phlox's eyebrow bunched together. "She felt it was the only way for both men to survive."

Tucker stared at his own feet for a second. So, she was doing it to help the cap'n. Well, I can understand that. Hell, I'd marry the cap'n if I thought it would help.

"I think I get the picture." Glancing up into the physician's eerie blue eyes, the engineer asked a question. "So, where is she now?"

"In Captain Archer's quarters."

He raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

"They're required by Andorian law to live together for week."

Trip stared at the doctor, sporting an enormous frown. "Thanks, Doc."

He barely heard the Denobulan's cheery voice as he stepped into the hall, intent on getting to the bottom of things. He assumed now that the Vulcan was free … was … maybe they could start where they left off last year before T'Pol had broken the news that everything, the sex particularly, had been one large experiment.

Before her marriage to Koss, he'd assumed they'd eventually work everything out as long as they kept talking it out. Instead of reeling her in, it seemed to push her away. And somehow, he doubted it was wishful thinking, the Vulcan seemed intent on conveying that her marriage to Koss was meaningless – no honeymoon, no deep commitment … nothing.

Somehow after four days in the Vulcan desert, she came back – changed. He couldn't understand it. The things she enjoyed doing seemed to grind to a halt: talking about movie night, asking him about emotion and performing neuropressure. It didn't add up.

Yeah, I better get to the bottom of things.


While unpacking the last of her belongings, T'Pol accidentally opened the captain's … Jonathan's … underwear drawer. Embarrassed, but too curious not to look – especially while his attention was drawn elsewhere – she noticed he wore briefs, not boxers, of multiple colors: those in black, blue and gray were easily visible. Folded into a row and tucked neatly beside were numerous pairs of blue socks (and all blue) – too many to be a coincidence. Shutting the drawer cautiously, she glanced back at him. A smile lit in her eyes.

As the drawer closed, she felt his attention back on her.

"Did you have enough drawer space?" he asked.

Watching him shift from one foot to another, she hypothesized he was nervous.

"Yes," she said. Staring back at the drawer, she opened the one she was assigned and placed her things there.

"Good, I'll take the floor, you can have the bed."

T'Pol gazed over at the bed. "Your bed is large enough for two people."

A frown spread over his lips. "T'Pol, we're not sleeping together."

Humans had such a provincial idea of sharing quarters. "Captain, there was less space between us when we shared a blanket on P'Jem."

The man's eyes narrowed and his chin jutted out, as if to flash his cleft. It usually meant he disagreed with her.

"Your floor is uncomfortable and the negotiations we have tomorrow are important. You need your rest. If you feel uncomfortable with a friend at your side, I suppose I can take the floor."

She watched him shift again and his eyes wander over to the floor. "Uncomfortable? No. I guess I can take the floor."

He is most certainly uncomfortable. Discomfort or not, it's in both of our best interest.

Hastening to bring it up, she mentioned what she was mostly concerned about. "There is also the possibility that Shran may wander in on us tonight."

"Wander in?"

"He has the access codes to enter your quarters. In paragraph …."

"I read it!" he said, snapping.

The furrow on his head turned into a chasm between his eyes. A hand swept in front of his body and his eyes roared with anger.

"We can find out some reason to explain to him …," he said.

"You're being unreasonable."

"Am I?"

"The situation dictates that the two of us stay here. We've been friends for many years and feel comfortable in each other's presence, correct?"

"Well, yeah, but …."

"We know we both need our rest and that Shran could enter the room at any moment. Therefore, you and I should sleep in the same bed."

"T'Pol …."

"Yes?"

Pivoting on his heel, he stared out the window at the stars zooming past.

"What are you uncomfortable with, Jonathan?"

Whipping his head to look at her, he said, "That. You calling me by my first name, you putting your things in my drawers … it just doesn't feel appropriate."

"Why?"

The man shook his head and without further explanation entered the bathroom.

It was difficult to understand him. Ignoring the need to analyze his statements and emotions, she rolled out her mat and fell into a brief meditation. She barely noticed his presence as he gathered a few things from his drawer and headed back to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he emerged in what she assumed must be his sleep attire – baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt.

"You've prepared for bed?"

"Yeah." Hesitantly padding his feet against the deck plating, he picked up a book and headed to his bed. "Which side?"

"Pardon me?" she asked.

"Which side do you want to sleep on?"

"How do you normally sleep? Do you have a … side?"

"I guess I'm kinda strewn all over the place. I'll sleep closer to the window. How's that?"

"Very well."

As she gathered her silky blue pajamas, she heard the captain's voice break from across the room.

"You gonna wear that?"

"Of course. This is what I wear to bed every night."

He sighed. "Are you sure you should?"

"I haven't asked you to stray from your routine."

Grinning, as if he had the upper hand, he corrected her. "This isn't what I wear to bed every night."

Refraining from knitting her eyebrows together in confusion, she set for the bathroom to change. Glancing around the small room, she looked for her toiletries spread amongst his shaving gel, razor – the old-fashioned kind, tweezers (she decided she didn't want to know what for), toenail clippers, toothpaste and … face cream? Collecting the treasure in her hands she examined it; the product promised silky skin, shaving less often and the disappearance of razor burn. The slogan summed it up: Your face can finally be close to the woman you love.

Hmmmm.

Slipping into her pjs, she squeezed her own cream into her palm. Because it was Vulcan, it didn't have a fancy label or slogan, unnecessary chemical products or a particular fragrance. Just the way she preferred it. Spreading it over her arms, elbows (which became dry too easily), legs and feet, she mused whether his skin was also dry. After brushing her teeth, washing her face and combing her hair, she put her items away and sauntered out of the bathroom.

Instead of finding Jonathan fast asleep, he seemed engrossed in his book. Noticing his double take, she approached the bed.

"T'Pol," he said softly.

"Jonathan, in less than seven days, this experience will be over."

"Right."

He helped her re-arrange her pillow and she slid under the covers. As soon as her foot settled against the sheets, it brushed up against his hairy toes. Immediately he scooted his foot out of the way, avoiding her touch.

"Sorry," he said.

It felt unsettling to her as well. "Ensign Sato indicated we should get used to touching each other."

Settling against his pillow and putting down his book, he said a few words. "You've touched me before."

"I have. Not with any intentions of more than friendship."

The man nodded and propped himself up on one elbow, gazing into her eyes. A question hung there, one she decided to answer.

"In order to … fool Shran we should seem married."

With a voice that made her toes curl, he spoke. "What would you suggest?"

-Buzz-

Instead of hopping away, she noticed he held her stare as the pulse at the base of his neck beat a little more rapidly.

"I'll get it," he said.

Saving him the embarrassment of climbing over her, she volunteered. "I will get the door."

Leaving the warmth of his bed, she sashayed over to door and opened it.

"Trip?"

"T'Pol?" Trip asked. He dipped to his side and saw past her toward the captain, who was in bed.

The Vulcan glanced behind her as Jonathan's head hit the pillow and he gave the smallest of sighs before recovering.

"It's not what you think," Jon said.

The engineer's eyes followed her form from her hair to her toes, measuring every inch of her pajamas and bare skin.

"Oh really?" Trip asked.

TBC