Chapter 6 – Pon Farr
"Let go of me!" she screamed again. The sounds ripping from her throat had more in common with a trapped animal than the dulcet tones the crew was accustomed to from their resident Vulcan. A crash reverberated throughout the room as another crewman was thrown across it and into a nearby cart
"Grab her arms!" the Captain shouted, catching an uppercut to the chin from a flailing fist. He shook his head to stay in focus, but managed to keep holding her down.
Phlox jotted over quickly, still filing the hypo-spray as he moved. A crewman once again had T'Pol's free arm under control, so that he was able to safely inject her neck. He sighed deeply when moments later, her eyes rolled back in her head and she was once again sedated.
The four crewmembers on the floor sat back collectively to catch their breath, but were soon rising to their feet. Leaning on the warped gurney, Archer fingered a broken wrist strap. Breathing heavily, he said, "I thought you said you had her well under control this time.
Phlox looked a bit contrite as he stared down at the hypo-spray. "I'm sorry, Captain." The unjust criticism obviously rankled, because he looked up before going on. "The sedative is becoming less effective," he said with just a bit too much enunciation. "I keep increasing the dosage, but her body is fighting it off more quickly each time."
"How long do we have this time?"
"I can't be certain." Seeing that the Captain was about to tell him to make an educated guess, Phlox cut him off, drawing out his words in frustration. "Under normal circumstances, a dose of this size would be enough to keep a full grown Vulcan tranquilized for several hours. Based on her increasing rate of recovery I'd say we have less than an hour."
The Captain threw his head back in frustration, so the Doctor went on, "I am sorry, Captain. The Pon Farr compulsion is extremely powerful. Commander T'Pol has been admirable in her attempts to control its onset through meditation these past three weeks, but in the end, there is only one true cure."
"And you're convinced that it has to be Trip."
"You know that I can't break doctor-patient privilege, Captain, but I have reason to believe that T'Pol would concur…if she were conscious," he ended, slightly under his breath.
"He's working on a planet-wide system, and they haven't had their communications grid online for the last week! How in the Hell are we even supposed to find him?" Archer nearly shouted, running a hand through his hair.
Phlox was a little amused if somewhat enigmatic when he said, "Oh, I have no doubt. Commander Tucker will find us."
Archer thought about trying to puzzle out the doctor's comment but decided against it. He stalked across the room and turned at the doorway. "Move her back to Decon…And let me know if there's any change."
"I will, Captain," Phlox said pleasantly.
Turning with a smile to the remaining crew, he said, "Well, then. Anyone else need a bone to be set?" Seeing a timid hand go up across the room, he intoned "Ah!" quietly and got to work patching everyone up.
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"Bridge to the Captain," Travis said over the intercom, "We're coming up on Gohran."
"Drop out of warp," he replied, jabbing the transmit button.
He was on the bridge just as the planet came into view.
"Captain," said Hoshi, "there's a shuttle craft approaching." He turned to her, and she said, "They're hailing us…it's Commander Tucker."
"Put him through."
"'Bout time you guys got here," Tucker's disembodied voice said. "Anything happening that I should know about?" He sounded like his usual teasing self, but his words were terse.
"Why do I get the feeling that you know about as much as I do?" the Captain said. "Permission to dock in landing bay 2."
"Understood."
"Beam him to sickbay as soon as he's aboard."
"Aye-aye, Sir," Reed replied. A moment later he nodded in response to Archer's silent question.
"Captain, to sick bay. Phlox, I'm sending Commander Tucker to you now. I want him cleared for pathogens as quickly as you can. What's the status with Commander T'Pol, is she awake?"
"I'm afraid Commander T'Pol is no longer in Decon, Captain…Unfortunately, one of the crew was about to give her another tranquilizer just as the shuttle arrived. She awakened immediately and had no difficulty in overpowering her guard."
"Commander Tucker?"
"Has arrived," Phlox finished, "and is being scanned now."
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He could hear the shouts as soon as he walked into sickbay. They were muffled by the thick walls of the decon chamber, so the words were indistinct. Probably a good thing, Archer thought to himself. It sounds like he's cursing a blue streak in there.
"Just one more minute," Phlox said as he opened the view portal.
"Phlox, I swear to God, if you don't let me out of here…" the rest of his threat was cut off as the portal closed.
Seeing the Captain, Phlox indicated that Trip was clear. Wordlessly, Archer nodded to let him out.
Trip stalked into the room, eyes flashing. He looked about as if searching for something before he crossed the room, eyes narrowing and lip curling. Seeing the Captain in front of him, he made a beeline for his old friend, but his face looked less than friendly.
He grabbed at the collar of the Captain's uniform "Where is she?" he asked, his voice a menacing growl.
They were interrupted by the intercom. "Reed to the Captain. The MACOs have picked up T'Pol on your deck. They've fired a low stun, but it's having little effect."
"Understood," he responded, pulling himself away from the Commander.
Dr. Phlox tried to bring Trip up to speed. "Commander Tucker, you're experiencing…"
"Save it, Doc, I got it. Just clear the corridors between here and my quarters." His voice was gruff from shouting, and his breath was quickening.
"How are we supposed to convince T'Pol to head back in this direction?" Archer asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
They heard firing some distance down the hallway as an impatient Trip opened the sickbay doors.
"Don't worry about that, Cap'n.," his brows lowering, and his eyes shifting back and forth as if seeking out prey. "She's already on her way."
"Hold your fire," the Captain shouted into the intercom. "Stand down and clear all corridors on this deck."
A guttural shout came from the same direction as the blaster fire.
"Hey, T'Pol!" Trip shouted, "I'll bet you run as slow as you think!" Not waiting for a reply, he took off for his quarters. An in human roar was heard from the opposite direction. Seconds later, T'Pol emerged at a run.
She was moving fast, but was bent double as if in pain. She spared them a glare as she passed, but didn't stop.
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He reached the doorway just seconds before her, and had just enough time to open the door before she jumped him, knocking both of them back into the room. He pushed her back, his breath coming in deep rasps, and said with an evil grin, "Hi, honey. I'm home." Excitement made him bite off the words so they sounded more like a threat than a greeting, but T'Pol didn't seem to notice.
With a growl, her hands clawed at his shoulders. She pulled him down, locking her lips onto his in a bruising kiss, her hands pulling at his uniform. He tried to unzip it, but she had already ripped the tunic open and was running sharp nails back and forth over his exposed torso.
Trying to regain the advantage, Trip tried to maneuver them somewhere, anywhere, but the middle of the room. He was trying to guide them towards the bed, but she was beyond reasoning and fought every attempt to move.
A loud tearing sound informed him that he'd have to see the Quartermaster about getting a new uniform. She was almost uncontrollable now, her mouth desperately seeking every inch of flesh she could find, her hands ripping and pulling at fabric. In the end, Trip gave her a none-too-delicate shove towards the closest piece of furniture. It happened to be his desk. Her head thumped against the cabinets, but she didn't seem to notice.
Trip was almost beyond thinking himself. Her hands were still moving quickly, grasping, seeking, and trailed behind by hungry kisses. With what little concentration he had left, he fumbled for the zipper of her catsuit and pulled it down, followed quickly by folds of fabric. As nails streaked mercilessly across his lower back, his last conscious thought was that he was going to have an awful lot of explaining to do in the morning.
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"A broken clavicle…three cracked ribs…multiple contusions…and a bloody nose! And that's just one crewman!" The captain shouted, still pacing as he'd been doing for the last ten minutes. "Not to mention that both of my senior officers have suffered multiple injuries and should be on bed rest for the next two days.
T'Pol said nothing, and Trip looked down at his sprained wrist, neatly wrapped in bandages.
"In the Commanders' defense, Captain, they were hardly in a position to act differently. While there is very little data available on the Vulcan Pon Farr, what there is clearly indicates a certain…instinctual response that's near impossible to control."
"Surak's memories are a little indistinct when it comes to this subject, but I still have enough of them to get the gist. If memory serves, there's no such compulsion in Vulcan females. Besides, isn't there supposed to be some sort of…agreement in place ahead of time?"
T'Pol opened her mouth to refute the Captain's claims, but Phlox stepped in before her, "Well, it's something of an unusual situation, Captain. Human…urges work quite differently than Vulcan. I'm certain that Commander Tucker's hormonal influence would have significant impact upon T'Pol's physiognomy."
"Which still doesn't explain how Commander Tucker could have any influence like this over a fellow officer! I'm not usually this slow when it comes to my ship and my crew, but I'm getting the distinct impression that something's been going on for quite a while now!" he said, ending in a shout.
Trip glanced up at the Captain, gulped, looked at T'Pol and went back to staring at the floor.
"I'm afraid that I was partially to blame for that, Captain." Phlox said, a little embarrassed. "I thought that I was helping Commander Tucker with his sleeping problem by suggesting the Vulcan neuro-pressure sessions. I should have realized that their rather…intimate nature could have long reaching effects."
"It's not that," Trip cut in, looking at his long time friend with a heavy sigh. "Sure they helped…change things between us, but I…" he glanced over at T'Pol before going on, "I started falling for T'Pol almost from the moment she came on board."
"I, too, should accept some of the blame," T'Pol said, holding Trip's gaze briefly. "Certainly my experiences aboard Enterprise have been…unique in comparison with other Vulcans. However, the connection between Commander Tucker and myself could not have been made without my full cooperation. Without it, this…situation should never have occurred."
"Maybe you'd better explain yourself," Archer said, beginning to calm down.
T'Pol's eyes dropped to the floor. She knew that she would have to reveal much in order to explain their actions. Her Vulcan sense of decorum railed against the need to shoulder her blame. She began slowly, "There have been a number of …incidents that have contributed to something of a…change in my character. Our experiences in the Expanse, for instance affected me in…ways I was not prepared for. I was forever changed by…" her voice trailed off as she raised her head and her eyes met Trip's. He was simply looking at her. Not berating her, not waiting for a confession, just looking. Even so, she would not imply that her actions were not of her own doing. "Regardless of the reasons, I am as much at fault as Commander Tucker in the formation of our Bond. Had I not been thinking of him during my marriage ceremony, this could never have happened.
"I think you'd better back up a bit," Archer said uneasily.
"As you know," T'Pol said carefully, "Commander Tucker was present at my marriage ceremony. The ceremony is centuries old and has been passed down by tradition in exactly the same manner."
"I remember," the Captain said slowly.
"You may or may not be aware of the tradition surrounding the ceremony."
"As I recall, its purpose is to form a strong connection between the couple."
T'Pol nodded slowly, "Tradition says that the ceremony 'makes two into one'. It is believed that a direct link is formed in the process. The tradition of living together for the first year is intended to strengthen this connection, so that when the couple…eventually mates…It is believed that a permanent psychological Bond is formed."
"And you didn't even have a chance to…mate with Koss before you dissolved your marriage."
"No, but Commander Tucker and I had already had…," she glanced quickly at Trip to see his reaction, "relations."
"So, you became Bonded to him instead," Archer said. They both nodded.
"Is this common in Vulcan marriages?" Phlox asked.
"No," Archer answered for her, "It's rare enough to form a bond so strong that there's a psychic link. Even in Surak's time Bonding to the wrong person was almost unheard of." Trip and T'Pol didn't look at each other, merely hanging their heads.
T'Pol said quietly, "There were some cases before Vulcans learned to suppress their emotions. In each of them, there was a high degree of emotional attachment."
"Meaning?" Archer said.
Phlox interjected into the silence, saying quietly, "I believe she means love, Captain. Vulcan emotions are quite severe before they're suppressed. Under the circumstances, both parties would have to love each other very much before such an outcome could take place."
"Yes," T'Pol said simply. She looked again at Trip. For the first time, his eyes were unguarded as he looked at her. She felt a slight catch in her throat at the raw emotion she saw there. Ignoring everyone else in the room, he looked deep into her eyes, into her soul, and smiled.
"How often are we going to have to go through this?" the Captain said, not quite ready to stop being annoyed.
"Given the unusual circumstance of human influence and the rather extended period of time that Commander Tucker was away, I would say most likely…" he caught a glare from the Captain, "I would say…never." The Captain was taken aback and Phlox went on, "I wouldn't recommend separating them for any extended period of time for a while, but there's no reason to expect any sort of, uh, repeat performance."
"But Vulcans go through pon farr like this every seven years."
"Vulcans males do, yes, but human males are a bit more, uh, indiscriminate, shall we say? I think that given time, Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol will be able to…make the most of their differing physiognomies."
He beamed at them pleasantly. Neither of them seemed to notice. Trip had reached out with his good hand and was holding hers gently. He gazed at her, and she looked up at him through her lashes, almost shyly.
Finally convinced that he was not about to have to lock up his first officer on a regular basis, Archer relented. "It seems like we're all going to have a few things to get used to.
Trip looked up at his old friend, expecting further reprimand. John's face was still stern, but there was a definite teasing glint in his eyes as he said, "I ought to make you be the one to report this to Starfleet."
"Cap'n?"
"You don't think they're going to just grant dispensation without some idea of the special circumstances, do you?" He grinned then, taking in Trip's wry smile as he glanced up shyly at T'Pol. Seeing her face remain impassive, just made Archer smile even more. Yes, indeed, his friends' life had turned out differently than either of them could possibly have imagined. Even so, he'd never seen him happier.
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Authors note: Thanks to TPTB for their nod to female pon farr and making it possible for me to put this section back in. I thought it was strictly a male Vulcan thing, but apparently, at least in a parallel universe, that's not the case.