Ghost Ship

by Ancastar

No one belongs to me. Yet, like so many other fic writers, I'd certainly treat them a lot better than their creators if given the chance. Credit goes to Paramount. No profit is being made.

Rating: PG – (Pretty mild really. Maybe the occasional cuss word, nothing more.)

Friendship (w/perhaps a dash of UST), Angst, Drama

Spoilers: Strangely for the movie "The Others". I give away a pretty big plot point right at the beginning of the story.

Please feel free to archive wherever you like. All I ask is that my name remain attached to the story. Thanks very much for reading. Reviews/feedback would be appreciated. This is my first attempt at Enterprise fic.

Set prior to the Expanse, Enterprise is sent on a rescue mission that turns into a search for one of their own.

"I can't believe you didn't like the movie."

"I did not say I did not like it. I said I did not find it suspenseful."

Ensign Hoshi Sato had to bite back a smile at the look such an innocent comment prompted on Commander Trip Tucker's face. To the amusement of much of Enterprise's crew, the commander had made it a kind of unspoken mission to introduce Sub-Commander T'Pol to the finer points of classic Earth pop culture, the operation largely centered around American cinema of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. He seemed to take it as a personal affront whenever she was not suitably diverted.

"I found it plenty scary," Ensign Travis Mayweather offered as the foursome worked to clear the rows of seats and bring the mess hall back to its usual configuration. "It had all the classic ingredients. But then, you know my fondness for ghost stories."

Stung though he appeared to be by T'Pol's lack of enthusiasm, Trip seemed unwilling to be mollified by Travis' support. "So what didn't work for you?" he queried as he dragged a couple of chairs over to a table Travis had claimed for their use. A certain ritual had developed around Movie Night. Popcorn was popped prior to the flick; pie was eaten afterwards. "Didn't you think the acting was good? It's one of Nicole Kidman's better remembered roles. What about the setting—the isolated old house, the fog, the weird people who kept popping up? You didn't find any of that…creepy?"

T'Pol looked as if she were seriously considering the commander's question as the group took their seats. It was lucky Travis had been keeping an eye on things. The place was filling up rather than emptying out. Their little quartet apparently weren't the only ones with dessert on the brain.

"The performances were quite skilled," the petite Vulcan allowed, folding her hands atop the table, her posture prim as always, "and the setting indeed atmospheric. I had, however, deduced the protagonist and her family were in fact the true ghosts long before the film's climax. This knowledge erased for me much of the intended tension."

Trip all but sputtered with indignation and surprise. "What! How…how did you figure out they were the ones who were the ghosts and not the other way around?"

Again, T'Pol paused before she spoke. This time, however, it seemed to Hoshi the sub-commander's hesitation sprang from something having to do with her blond co-worker rather than the simple desire to marshal her thoughts. T'Pol's eyes were focused on her hands rather than on Trip.

"If you recall, when first telling me about the film, you stated the plot had a 'twist'," she explained, her voice utterly without rebuke. "Given that on the surface the storyline appeared quite straightforward, it was not long into the proceedings before I realized what the twist must be."

Travis started chuckling, obviously as entertained by the blossoming horror on Trip's face as Hoshi was. "Way to go, Commander," the helmsman teased. "You spoiled the picture!"

"No," Trip protested, looking from T'Pol to Travis and back again, chagrin furrowing his forehead. "I mean, I-I didn't… That is…you shouldn't…have… Oh, geez, T'Pol. I did, didn't I? I spoiled the movie."

T'Pol lifted her gaze and her brow, her expression mild. "Apparently. Although it would appear the 'spoiling' was inadvertent."

"Boy, Commander," Hoshi razzed, itching to get in on the ribbing, "it looks like we're going to have to watch it around you. The next thing you know you'll be spilling the beans about Darth Vadar's family tree."

"Hey! Come on now," Trip complained good-naturedly, seemingly relieved T'Pol bore him no ill will for the gaffe. "I'm really sorry I didn't keep my mouth shut, but I'm not planning on making a habit of it. And anyway—if T'Pol watches all the episodes in order, I'm not going to have to worry about spoiling anything."

"To what episodes are you referring?" T'Pol queried, apparently confused by the conversation tangent.

"A series of movies every Earth child knows by heart," Hoshi interjected. "Even if only half of them are actually worth watching."

"That's it," Trip said, pushing to his feet, his would-be pique as playful as his smile. "I'm not going to sit here and listen not only to my character being maligned but to some of Hollywood's best movies being criticized as well."

"You're a Star Wars fan, sir?" Travis asked.

"You kidding me? The Millennium Falcon, Obi-Wan and the Force, a kidnapped princess in a galaxy 'far, far away'? Those movies were one of the main reasons I signed up with Starfleet," Trip said, his grin widening.

"Pictured yourself as Luke Skywalker, Commander?" Hoshi guessed, charmed by the mental image of a pint-sized Trip Tucker brandishing a lightsaber longer than he was tall.

Trip shook his head. "Not Luke—Han. He got the girl. And he got to keep his hand." Crossing around the back of Travis' chair, the commander laid one of his own hands on the ensign's shoulder. "Come on, Travis. Let's see if we can't rustle up some pie. If I can't offer T'Pol a good scare, the least I can do is satisfy her sweet tooth."

Nearly an hour later, T'Pol and Trip walked side by side down one of Enterprise's many halls, having parted from Travis and Hoshi at the deck's turbo lift, their shoulders brushing companionably as they strolled.

As was his custom, Trip was seeing T'Pol to her quarters, a practice the sub-commander found agreeable yet baffling. Commander Tucker could not reasonably believe she required assistance finding her way back to her accommodations, nor could he rationally fear for her safety were she left on her own. The logical course of action would have been for the commander to have bid her farewell at his own door, which they had passed half a corridor before.

Yet, she knew as well as anyone the commander was sometimes not the most logical of creatures. Besides, she couldn't fault him for his courtesy. It allowed them more time together, time she very much enjoyed.

Although she would never confess as much to him.

"While tonight's feature did not supply me with quite the…thrill you might have hoped, it did raise for me a question," she ventured as they made their way slowly down the hall. The hour was late, beta shift well underway, and the hallway lighting was dimmed to approximate night. Foot traffic was light; they had the passage to themselves. While T'Pol had never required artificial illumination to regulate her internal clock, she took pleasure in the simulated evening glow. It lent a sense of intimacy to the ship's walkways, the illusion belied by the more than eighty individuals living and working all around them, active as ants in a hill.

Trip glanced her way. "Don't know if I'll have the answer you're looking for, but I'm willing to give it a try. Ask away."

T'Pol inclined her head, appreciative of his reply. "You and the captain have explained to me the reasons for your culture's love of horror films."

"Part adrenaline rush, part cardio-vascular workout," Trip recalled with a nod. "Seems to me, you recommended a little good old-fashioned exercise instead." The twinkle in his eyes erased any of the words' potential bite.

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed. "And yet there seems to be a subtle difference between horror films focusing on monsters or villains and those whose action revolves around spectral activity."

Trip stopped and turned to her, his brow wrinkled with confusion. "How do you mean?"

T'Pol stopped as well, lips pursed as she considered how best to phrase her query. "Both contain suspense, both utilize the element of surprise to build tension, both often depict violence in a way calculated to shock their audiences. Yet ghost stories most commonly include a feeling of melancholy, an almost quixotic sense of loss or longing, which the other tales do not. Why is that?"

Trip scrubbed his face with his hand as he pondered her question. "I don't know, T'Pol. I guess it's because ghosts were once people, often people who left behind loved ones who miss them." He paused, seemingly trying to figure out how best to explain the unexplainable. "Some say ghosts exist because they're drawn to this world even after death. It's like they're not quite ready to leave it all behind." He shrugged then, almost as if embarrassed. "There is something moving in that, I suppose, wanting what you can never have."

T'Pol heard something in his voice, a wistfulness that stirred an answering something in her. "Vulcans do not believe in ghosts."

Trip smiled, the grin, to T'Pol's measuring eyes, surprisingly affectionate. "Now why does that not surprise me?"

Even though she knew he was baiting her, T'Pol could not help but respond. "Despite exhaustive research into the field going back hundreds of years, neither Earth scientists nor the Vulcan Science Directorate have been able to irrefutably confirm the existence of ghosts."

"Yet every Earth culture has stories about them," Trip countered blithely, his smile undimmed. "Disappearing hitchhikers, long dead home owners, hell—phantom horses and dogs. Who's to say there isn't something to it? Don't Vulcans spin yarns about the spirit world? Cautionary tales about encounters with the unknown?"

"No."

If anything, Trip's smile widened even more. "That almost sounds like a challenge. I wonder if anyone aboard this ship has a Ouija Board."

Continued in Chapter Two