Title: Eternal Linkage

By: Bether6074

Rated: R, I guess only because I would be a little uncomfortable if my 13 year old read this, but nothing major here. Mild language, some suggestive scenes and graphic imagery.

Genre: This is a tough one. Overall, I would have to say Fluff, but there is definitely some Drama, a bit of Action/Adventure, some Angst and, of course, Romance is sprinkled throughout.

Archive: Take it if you want, but please let me know.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount. No infringement intended here.

Summary: Taking the timeline from TATV, six years following Terra Prime, Enterprise is being decommissioned and returning to Earth for Archer's big speech and the signing of the charter. Trip and T'Pol have many issues to confront and deal with due to these events. A disaster aboard the ship has huge ramifications for the two.

Author's Notes: My finale fix and it got way more involved than I intended it to. I'm going to have to ask for a little leeway from readers here because action/adventure is not my strongpoint. I hope the scenario I created isn't too implausible, but I figured it had to be better than what aired. It was extremely difficult imagining where T/T would be six years in the future, but I played with it a bit and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it.

-----------------------------------------------------------Chapter Four---------------------------------------------------------

T'Pol blinked determinedly, trying to fend off the unwelcome and uneasy feeling which had invaded her body. Its intensity grew more powerful within her as each second of time passed with an infinite measure. She swayed lightly back and forth from her chair on the bridge, awaiting word, along with the others, from Commander Tucker. The Vulcan gazed down at the floor momentarily and imagined hearing the soft tone of his voice, the slight inflection of his words and the familiar comfort of his wit. Surely there would be some sly remark from his tongue or perhaps an offbeat joke in an effort to deflect the apprehension created by the danger that had just passed. Or had it passed?

Captain Archer paced the floor restlessly, his face stern from anxiety and tension. He moved to T'Pol, his voice nearly a whisper.

"How long has it been?"

T'Pol glanced downward, checking her clock and gulped, sighing softly. She felt her mouth go dry as she uttered the words. "Nine minutes have passed since the Commander's first transmission, Sir." She paused briefly as the information permeated through her mind. "This means, Captain, that less than one minute remains until the devices discharge. That is, provided Commander Tucker has not already disabled them."

Archer bit his lip nervously. "Trip should have reported by now."

There was a sudden and forceful tremor that shook the room momentarily, causing Archer to briefly lose grip of his footing. He staggered and regained control, looking to T'Pol, as a look of dread crossed over his face. "I can't wait here any longer. I'm going down there," he stated firmly. "T'Pol, you have the bridge." The Science Officer stared back at him stoically, her lips struggling to form the words. Archer shot her a stern glare; interrupting any thought she had of attempting to stop him. "You have your orders, Commander."

"Yes, Sir," she returned with a hint of resignation and then added, more gently, "Be careful, Sir." Archer blinked and smiled softly at her, nodding his head as he walked out the door.

Captain Archer squinted his eyes tensely, trying to make out the shadowy figure that lay crumpled on the floor at the end of the corridor to engineering. He rushed hurriedly through the billows of smoke that permeated the air, a hand lightly covering his mouth. Small fires burned in several areas and a sickening stench from the apparent explosion caused the Captain to gag reflexively. As his steps neared the downed crew member, he quickly realized this person was no longer alive. The face was charred almost beyond recognition, a blackened layer of soot embedded upon the skin. Archer knelt down and carefully examined the features, his heart wrenching. He placed a hand delicately upon the head, gently grazing the man's hair and then noticed its dark color as the strands lay along his fingers. A long, black leather strap hung loosely from one arm. Archer laid a hand beneath the frayed end inquisitively, noting a silver buckle still bound to the wrist. Tracing the body with a thorough scan, Archer spotted the familiar navy blue threads of a Starfleet uniform covering the burned arms and legs. He scrambled quickly to his feet with a long sigh of relief. Trip's hair was much lighter than this man's and Trip certainly wasn't in uniform that night. When the two shared a drink earlier in Archer's quarters, the Captain distinctly remembered his young engineer being donned in civilian clothing. This dead body was not his friend. It wasn't Trip.

A mere several yards away, Trip Tucker felt a searing pain shoot through his entire body as he lay wounded upon the cold floor, trembling in shock. He groaned with anguish, somehow still conscious, and curled his body into a fetal position, in a desperate attempt to ease the suffering. The injured young man struggled valiantly to lift his head, but with each small motion felt a sharp jolt of agony in his chest. Trip gasped perilously for air. His torched lips opened marginally, a dry tongue crossing over the roughness, as he by some means managed to mutter a low, croaking sound. "Heellpp…someone, please..." Trip gathered his energy with determination. He rolled onto his stomach, and then hollered out in distress, as his open wounds pressed firmly upon the flat and hard surface. The weakened engineer crushed his arms gruelingly against the floor and using his elbows as leverage, amazingly slid forward several inches. He grunted in pain, exhaling in short, sputtered breaths. I gotta find someone. Got to get help. C'mon, Tucker, you can do this. Just push and slide. No pain. No pain. Trip dragged himself several feet, trying desperately to ignore the misery which encompassed his entire being. He heard the tap of steady footsteps in the near distance. Through the smoky air, he recognized the hazy figure approaching as his mentor and friend.

"Jesus, Trip…" Captain Archer exclaimed at the sight of his fallen comrade. He placed both arms beneath Trip, turned him onto his back and gathered him up with a gentle swoop. Archer smiled weakly at the injured engineer, with a comforting genuineness. "We have to get you to Sickbay." The Captain began moving briskly through the hallways, unaffected by the weight of the Commander in his grasp.

Trip whirled his head from side to side, mumbling softly. "Cap'n…T'Pol…the baby…"

"Everything is going to be all right. Let's get you to Dr. Phlox. You'll see T'Pol soon, I promise."

"The engines…"

"They were damaged some from what I can tell. We'll get someone working on them. Don't worry, Trip."

"Where's T'Pol? I need her. I gotta see her. Cap'n, please."

"Shhh…don't try to talk." Archer gazed into Trip's eyes. "I will get T'Pol for you, Trip, okay? But right now you need medical help. Just please try and relax. It's going to be okay." The Captain tapped his communicator. "Archer to Dr.Phlox."

"Yes, Captain, Phlox here," the Doctor replied from Sickbay.

Archer noticed Trip seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness. "I'm on my way there with Commander Tucker. He's been burned from an explosion." He paused and gazed down at the Commander, whose eyes were now closed. The two continued their rapid pace down the corridor. Archer spoke in a hushed tone. "He's hurt badly, Doctor…and there's a dead body in Engineering that I'm quite certain is Commander Kelby."

Dr. Phlox could tell by the inflection of the Captain's voice that this was a serious situation. "I'll send someone down for the body." He paused briefly, in quiet contemplation. "I'll be ready for you, Captain," Phlox added with a reserved, yet reassuring tone.

Moments later, the sickbay doors slid open. Captain Archer entered, breathing heavily, with Trip flailing about in his arms. Phlox moved to them rapidly, assessing the engineer's injuries with a sweeping efficiency. "Put him down on the table." The Doctor placed a hand gently upon Trip's shoulder and methodically ran his scanner over the Commander's body. Phlox's face fell as he stared at the results on the screen before him. He lifted his head slowly and found Archer's eyes. No words were spoken, but the Captain recognized this expression. He knew by the slight frown of the mouth, the sadness in the eyes and the dejection which enveloped the Denobulan's face. He knew his friend might die.

Archer felt his body go limp, his legs weakening, his chest aching. His heart pounded heavily within his bosom, as each rhythmic pulse radiated the pain with every successive beat. He gulped knowingly; eyes still focused on Phlox, and then glanced down at Trip tenderly. His companion blinked softly, momentarily peaceful, and flashed Archer a delicate, consolatory smile.

"Captain, please," Phlox interrupted, with urgency. "Obviously he was in close proximity to the heat from the explosion. His lungs are partially thermolyzed. We need to get him into the hyperbaric chamber!" The two grasped Trip and lifted him cautiously; their arms wrapped tightly around his fragile body and carried him carefully toward the chamber. The door thrust open and they released him onto the metal table, watching helplessly as it guided the wounded Chief Engineer into its long, murky tunnel.

The hatch slid down rapidly, sealing the badly injured young man into the dark and desolate chamber. His eyes briefly scanned the walls surrounding him as his chest heaved violently and painfully. A sharp, searing agony fell over his neck and thorax, the smell of burning flesh more pronounced with each passing moment. Trip closed his eyes in anguish. His body tensed rigidly, attempting to battle the misery which wracked its every fiber.

Images pervaded Trip's mind. Thoughts, feelings and memories raced throughout his brain, consuming him imperiously with past events in his life. He writhed frantically upon the hard, cold surface beneath him, straining desperately to attain a small measure of control. The Commander focused clearly for a moment, attempting to even his breaths, as the figure before him became unmistakable.

T'Pol's radiant beauty saturated Trip's consciousness, her perfect features stamped eternally within his being. Her face immersed him perpetually, comforting his weary soul in a visual onslaught. Feeling trapped in his broken and ravaged body, the wounded engineer beat restlessly with a trembling hand at the encircling metal. He felt an imperishable need and longing for his bond mate's presence. Trip reached for T'Pol with a powerful rush of emotions. He tried desperately to summon her, connect with her, call her to his side. The thought of dying without seeing her one last time only further increased the torment he now endured. Trip lay alone and despondent, whispering a soft prayer that T'Pol would feel his urgent beckoning. C'mon, Darlin', I need you. Please, T'Pol, just let me see you one more time. Trip gasped heavily, and then silently slipped into unconsciousness, the pain escaping him.

Back on the bridge, Malcolm relayed some unfortunate news. "We have affirmation of an explosion in Engineering," he stated, with a growing tension in his voice. Commander T'Pol rose from her chair, unflinching.

"Damage report."

Malcolm looked down at the information, pressing buttons frantically. "Significant. The engines have taken some moderate damage, but appear repairable." He paused momentarily, staring at his gauges. "Lucky thing there were only two officers in the area. Still…there has to be injuries, Commander, and I'd be willing to bet they're not minor."

T'Pol stared ahead intensely, focusing her thoughts. She paced back and forth rhythmically, assessing her options with urgency. The Commander placed a finger gently down upon her communicator. "T'Pol to Archer…Captain, can you read me?" The Vulcan science officer stood quietly at her station on the bridge, patiently awaiting a response.

"There appears to be some type of interference. Do you hear that?" Malcolm questioned. There was a low, grumbling static. Malcolm shook his head. "There's no answer… It's quite possible he doesn't hear us." Lieutenant Reed's face fell, anxiety crossing over his features. "What about Trip? Maybe…" His words trailed off softly in realization.

T'Pol nodded in recognition. "We know he was down there…" her voice faded away, the words almost inaudible. She sighed lightly and attempted to contact the ship's engineer, though being quite certain he would not respond. "Commander T'Pol to Commander Tucker. Commander, please report." Dead silence filled the air as each passing second spelled an impending doom. T'Pol felt herself overcome with a barrage of emotions certainly not her own. She grasped at her chest instinctively, as Trip's presence ubiquitously permeated her being. The Vulcan's breathing began to increase slightly as an eerie awareness became abruptly evident to her. Her eyes widened briefly. "Trip…" she whispered, knowingly to herself and then turned toward the crew. "The Commander is in trouble… and I need to locate the Captain. Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather, you have the bridge." Malcolm and Travis gestured in acknowledgement as T'Pol moved quickly toward the exit.

There was a strong sense of Trip within T'Pol's mind. The essence of him weighed down upon her, more powerfully than she could ever recall, more desperate and needier. T'Pol's sensitive telepathy gave her an ominous impression as she approached engineering. She halted her steps abruptly and surveyed what remained of the place her human partner held so dear. The smoky air hovered around her, its thick, pungent fumes indicative of a nearby fire that was likely still burning. Shattered glass covered the floor, in long, uneven shards. T'Pol stepped over the broken pieces carefully, her eyes searching desperately along the pathway. There was no sign of crew members, no bodies upon the floor, no personnel, injured or otherwise. The Vulcan coughed mildly as the murky, cloudy air began to congest her lungs. She scampered up the corridor hastily, headed for Sickbay.

Time seemed an eternity as T'Pol struggled through the infinite halls of the starship in a dire pursuit to reach her bond mate. Her eyes squinted toward the end of her current path and visualized the doors of Sickbay drawing near. She pushed a hand forcefully upon the entranceway and opened the portal with an abrupt thump. T'Pol scanned the room methodically, searching carefully for Trip. Her eyes halted at the sight of a biobed in the center of the room. A sheet stretched over an unmoving form, covering the entire body from head to foot. One hand dangled over the side, exposing several fingers from beneath the blanket. T'Pol approached the figure slowly, her breaths quickening. She gazed inquisitively at the hand for a moment, then closed her eyes and exhaled mildly. T"Pol turned away from the body and looked about the room, in a quick resumption of her hunt for Trip. In the corner, near the hyperbaric chamber, Captain Archer and Dr. Phlox huddled closely together, a look of dread shrouding their faces. She felt her heart sink with fear, an emotion she couldn't quite entirely suppress in that moment. T'Pol reached the chamber and pressed both hands firmly against the opening. "I need to see him." The words were strong and steady, her voice unwavering. "Let me see him please." Her voice grew increasingly louder and urgent, her control slipping away.

Dr. Phlox took a step forward carefully, drawing himself nearer to T'Pol. "He's been badly hurt, Commander," the doctor offered gently. "His lungs need oxygen. If I remove him now…he may not survive."

T'Pol steeled herself and spoke calmly. "He is summoning me, Doctor. I feel his need through our bond. I must see him…now. It will be brief, you have my word."

The doctor stared back at her sympathetically and nodded gently. "Very well. But, please be as succinct as possible. He can not be out of that chamber for very long in his present condition."

T'Pol nodded weakly. "Agreed."

Phlox placed his index finger on the switch and compressed the button slowly. The table slid out gradually, as Trip's beaten form emerged quietly from the chamber in a twisted heap. T'Pol approached the flat, metal bed, her eyes examining her fallen partner intensively. The skin of his neck and chest were burned severely, his body scorched from the fire, its tissue raw and a sickening red. Clear fluid oozed from the torn skin and slowly depleted him of much needed hydration. His hair was tousled and singed with black, its blonde color coated with a thick layer of gray ash and soot. Trip's shirt was tattered and ripped open. It hung loosely from his damaged chest, exposing his deep and brutal wounds. He wheezed uncontrollably, fighting for air and then sprung open his eyes with a start.

Their eyes met and locked together. Hazel burned deeply into blue. T'Pol stared through the clear, cerulean color, permitting herself to fall into Trip's soul, momentarily uninhibited and free. The connection between Vulcan and Human grew stronger, more intense and powerful.

Trip's mouth began to quiver, his lips attempting to form words. T'Pol caressed his head serenely, her fingers gently grazing the soft skin of his forehead and cheek. "Don't attempt to speak. You must rest and restore your health." She squinted and clenched her face slightly, struggling to maintain control. "Our child will need its father."

Trip nodded his head painfully, somehow managing a slight smile. "Sorry…Sorry I messed up your weddin'plans."

He began to gasp softly.

"Shhh…please Trip." T'Pol took a few steps back and moved her hand from the injured man's face, looking to Dr. Phlox. The doctor nodded and approached the table. Trip and T'Pol maintained eye contact as the door slid open. Trip's fear and confusion filled her senses. He gazed at her pleadingly, parched lips mouthing something inaudibly, the words jumbled and unclear. A trembling hand extended toward her from the slowly shifting table but T'Pol could only grasp the tips of her mate's fingers briefly, as the fallen engineer slipped silently down the long and narrow tube and disappeared from her sight.

T'Pol turned toward the Doctor, her voice wavering slightly. "Will he survive?"

Phlox looked back at her somberly. "I have no way of predicting that. He's lost a lot of fluid. His lungs have been damaged. If we can keep him on Oxygen and rehydrate him…it's possible. The Commander is a young man and in excellent health. It really depends on just how resilient he is. If he makes it through the next twenty four to forty eight hours, his odds will certainly improve."

"Please do not let him die." T'Pol said, almost pleading.

"I'll do everything possible to give him the best chance and that is all I can do."

"Thank you, Doctor. I know that you will."