T'Pol stepped out of the turbolift, studying the corridor before her with narrowed eyes. Two Roughnecks stood at the door to the Observation Deck and silently observed her approach. She recognized Lieutenant Reynolds at once from both his stance and his familiar scent; he took a step toward her, pushing the faceplate on his helmet up as he spoke.
"Good evening, Commander," he said in her native tongue; he spoke to her thus quite often, to – as he put it – 'keep in practice' with her language. "The captain gave orders that he wasn't to be disturbed." T'Pol slowed her pace as she approached, inclining an eyebrow at Reynolds' words and wondering briefly if she would have to order him to stand aside. To her surprise, the lieutenant smiled softly and gave a discreet hand signal to the other security officer; without hesitation, the younger man moved out of the way of the door and T'Pol gave Reynolds an amused glance, acknowledging his knowing expression with the slightest of nods. He knew more about the depth of her relationship with Trip than most.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said as she neared the door.
"Good luck, ma'am," Reynolds whispered as the other security officer triggered the door release. It hissed open and she entered the darkened Observation Deck.
Trip sat quietly in front of the immense window overlooking the damaged Endeavour, his shoulders hunched as if in defeat, and a tangible sense of sadness seemed to surround him. The moment that she crossed the threshold onto the Observation Deck, he straightened his posture, once more seeming to don the professional officer mask that he had worn for so long. T'Pol frowned, momentarily confused by a curious sense of deja vu that she could not explain. Behind her the door slid shut, and she started forward.
As T'Pol neared him, Trip held up his right hand, offering his index and middle finger without looking back. A flicker of pleasure washed through her as she observed how easily and completely he accepted Vulcan traditions. She touched her fingers to his and, for a heartbeat, allowed herself to luxuriate in the warmth of his katra.
"You haven't eaten today," she said by way of greeting and Trip glanced up at her, smiling softly. Though he concealed it well, she could sense a crushing fatigue bearing down on him.
"Wasn't hungry," he replied and T'Pol frowned again. Through the bond, she could tell that hunger had been gnawing at him for several hours and, without a word, she set the covered dish she carried down before him, pushing the PADDs that were scattered atop the table out of the way. He hesitated, giving the bowl a glance, before finally sighing and reaching for it. "Noodle salad?" he asked with a look of not quite disgust.
"Yes," T'Pol replied simply as she took a seat beside him. "You eat too much meat," she pointed out, and he chuckled. A long moment passed in agreeable silence as he slowly ate and she organized the PADDs into a more efficient stack.
"Spoke to Jon earlier," Trip said in between bites. "Admiral Black is makin' noises again." She nearly frowned; the grim admiral was their most vocal opponent and had staunchly opposed assigning her to Endeavour under Trip's command.
"Did you give the commodore our proposal?" she asked and her mate nodded as he chewed. It had been more Trip's idea than hers, but his logic was sound; she had only offered a few suggestions to refine it. Giving the senior tactical officer authority to initiate a command change if his commanding officer and executive officer proved to be unfit for duty was, at best, a temporary measure to assuage the concerns of the Admiralty about their relationship, but it demonstrated to Starfleet Command that she and Trip were willing to compromise. Such an action to initiate the removal from command process would require considerable evidence but, from her brief interactions with him on Vigrid Station, T'Pol had little doubt that Lieutenant Commander Eisler would be efficient in that regard; the tactical officer had been brutally honest when Trip approached him with the proposal and asked for his opinion.
"Jon said he'd forward it to Starfleet Command," came Trip's distracted reply. "I told him that I'd sic Soval on 'em if they tried to transfer you." T'Pol fought to keep from frowning at that; she strongly disliked using such a strong-arm tactic against Starfleet Command, and she suspected the Admiralty would appreciate it even less. Despite her control, some part of her disapproval must have leaked through the bond as he turned his eyes on her. "You might be able to handle being away from me for long periods of time, sweetheart," he pointed out, "but I sure as hell can't take it." Trip abruptly smirked. "I'm only human, after all," he said with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Once more, she could not argue with his logic.
"My human," she reminded him affectionately, and he smiled at her. He glanced back at the viewport overlooking Endeavour and his grin faltered. The amusement that had been in his eyes disappeared almost at once. A long moment passed as T'Pol picked her words carefully. "I also spoke to Commodore Archer earlier," she finally said, and he grunted; from his expression, she could tell he knew what was coming. "Why did you offer him your resignation?" she asked softly, and her mate sighed heavily.
"I'm tired of doin' this, T'Pol," he said in response, gesturing toward the PADDs with his fork.
"Doing what, Trip?" A wave of frustrated despair rolled off of him as he stabbed his fork in the last of the salad before grabbing the topmost PADD.
"Dear Mister Li," he read from the data device, "I regret to inform you that your daughter, Allison, was killed in action aboard Vigrid Station on one October, twenty-one fifty-six." He tossed the PADD back on the table with a flick of his wrist and it spun off the side, sliding a half meter toward the observation window as he continued reciting from memory. "Words alone cannot express the depth of my regret for your loss." Trip closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Her actions saved the lives of dozens, perhaps hundreds of people, and is in the highest traditions of the Service."
"Trip," she started, laying her hand on his arm.
"I'm tired of bein' a soldier, darlin'." Without asking permission, her mate drew her to him in a tight hug; she wondered which of them was deriving more comfort from it. "I'm tired of comin' up with better and faster ways to kill. I'm tired of sendin' these kids off to die," he continued, his voice calm and composed even as waves of emotion bled through the bond. "I'm tired of doing nothing but writin' these goddamned letters!" Easing his hold on her, he continued, his voice sad and soft. "I never signed up with Starfleet to be a soldier," he whispered, "and I don't wanna do this anymore."
"What do you want to do?" T'Pol questioned as she rested her head on his shoulder. It wasn't proper Vulcan etiquette, she admitted to herself, but she had long ago given up trying to be a proper Vulcan.
"I wanna be just an engineer again," Trip replied, kissing the top of her head and stroking her back with one hand as he spoke. "I wanna marry you in a really big ceremony so everyone in the damned galaxy knows how I feel about ya, and then have lots of babies. That's what I want."
"Which of us will be the mother?" T'Pol asked, the hint of a smile on her face. "You do have more experience with pregnancy than I."
"God," Trip chuckled, "you're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"
"Obviously not," she replied simply and he smiled again. His good humor faded far too quickly as he stared at the damage to Endeavour.
"I feel like a fraud," he finally whispered. "Every time somebody calls me Captain, I wanna look around for Jon, or for you." He sighed again. "I can't help but to think that if you had been in command, or Jon, things wouldn't have turned out like they did."
"I was in command at Azati Prime," T'Pol reminded him, regret tingeing her words, "and Commodore Archer commanded at Elysium. Neither situation turned out as desired." Trip drew breath to argue but she pressed on. "You are afraid of failing." It wasn't a question but he nodded anyway. "Cast out fear, adun," she said pointedly and, through the bond, she felt his sudden surprise at her words, "there is no room for anything else until you cast out fear."
"You're quotin' Surak to get me out of a funk?" he asked incredulously, and she leaned back out of the circle of his arms to give him a measuring look.
"Is it working?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes. T'Pol leaned closer to him again. "Trip, Starfleet Command selected you for this job because you are the most qualified for it." He opened his mouth, no doubt to disagree, but she placed her fingers across his lips and continued. "You have the most deep space experience among the Starfleet corps of senior officers," she pointed out in as rational a voice as possible. "You also have an instinctive understanding of human behavior that I cannot duplicate." He frowned and T'Pol knew he was going to argue that point. "If I had given the order to seal off Engineering," she asked softly before he could comment, "would Lieutenant Devereux have obeyed?"
"Maybe not," her mate muttered, sadness clear in his eyes. He glanced away, once more turning his eyes to the viewport, and T'Pol could sense his thoughts racing. "She would have argued with you," Trip said. A flash of memory that was not hers flickered across her thoughts, a recollection of a human commander furious at the cold Vulcan subcommander so willing to leave their captain behind; she inclined an eyebrow as he gave her a sheepish smile. "Just like I woulda done a couple of years ago," he acknowledged.
"Your decision was the correct one," T'Pol said firmly, "but it had to come from you." It was something she had learned to accept upon entering Starfleet: she could command the humans, but it was a far cry from being in command. Rare was the human officer who didn't immediately think of her as Vulcan first and a Starfleet commander a distant second; Trip had been the first to do so. Finally, he nodded in understanding and she could feel his grudging acceptance.
"When did you get so damned smart?" he asked with a soft smile and mischief welled up within her.
"I have always been this way," she replied quickly, her lips curved ever so slightly in the barest hint of a smile. "It has just taken you this long to notice." He chuckled as she reclined back against him, allowing his arm to drape once more over her, and they sat in silence for long minutes, a growing sense of contentment humming through the bond. The black mood that had enveloped him for so long slowly lifted and he relaxed the mental shields that she had taught him months earlier. Almost at once, a jumble of confusing emotions bombarded her and T'Pol inhaled deeply, illogically finding comfort in them.
"Trip," she started before pausing. She gathered her thoughts, considering her next words. It would be a sensitive subject and she wondered how best to broach it.
"Hmmm?" her mate asked sleepily. The exhaustion that she had sensed was catching up to him.
"I saw something on the station that ... that I did not understand." Unconsciously, she frowned; there were few things that she disliked more than having to admit that she did not comprehend something. "Lieutenant Commander Eisler suggested that I ask you for clarification."
"Okay." From his voice and her sense of him, she could tell Trip was becoming curious. "What was it?" he asked.
"A picture," she replied before pausing again. That definition wasn't entirely correct, and she hated inaccuracy.
"A picture?" he repeated, not even bothering to hide his confusion. "What kind of picture?"
"It was a stylized representation of canines involved in a card game." T'Pol pursed her lips, wondering how such a thing could be possible; canines did not possess the necessary opposable digits, not to mention their lack of cognitive ability. She wondered if it was perhaps a metaphor. "Commander Eisler told me that it was an ... American thing, and that you could explain its meaning." In response, Trip did something completely unexpected.
He began to laugh.