Chapter 2:
AU for "The Hatchery," Season 3, Episode 17.
A/N: There are scenes in the show that have great dialogue. I love them. But I've chosen not to use the dialogue in my story. My characters are following a similar plot path, but their emotional contexts are now quite a bit different. So you'll see familiar scenes, familiar plot points, but likely not too much familiar dialogue. I may borrow a line here or there (I've watched these episodes several times over the years), but I won't intentionally follow the script dialogue.
This chapter got a little long...but it seemed weird to chop it in two. (Where's the shrug emoji when you need it?)
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The incident with the Xindi hatchery changed everything.
It had been a week since Trip spent the night in T'Pol's quarters and their morning-after conversation in the mess hall. A week since that little sensation, that frisson of awareness in the back of his mind, had appeared.
Strangely it hadn't worried him. It probably should. No other night he'd spent with a woman had generated this kind of connection with his partner. It was weird, and it should be disturbing, too.
But at this point, Trip wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Truthfully, he saw this new intuition as a godsend. It hadn't steered him wrong yet. It was quiet when T'Pol wasn't around, but anytime she was in the vicinity, he was aware of her, attuned to her in a way that let him read her emotions and react accordingly.
And boy, did she have emotions.
Trip thought back to the naïve kid he'd been a few years ago when he'd really started to get to know Vulcans. He'd thought they were cold, stuck-up jerks who wouldn't know what humans really needed unless it punched them in the face. In their first missions, T'Pol had only underscored his prejudices. He'd seen her as an ice queen and begrudged her the deck space she occupied.
Needless to say, Trip had changed. Until now, he'd always thought he'd been the only one to change. He was proud of how far he'd come, how open-minded he was capable of being. But meeting in the middle wasn't the way he'd have described their journey towards each other. It was a game-changer, this glimpse into her mind—now he was questioning everything.
The biggest question was this: had T'Pol had always had such an inner conflict, or had the Xindi mission brought it out in her?
Trip's compassion for T'Pol's inner turmoil had skyrocketed in the past week. He'd watched her struggle, time and time again, to tamp a lid down on a pot that was constantly pushing to boil over. He marveled that she never once showed it on her face.
But the emotions were there—and they were intense. Much more than his had ever been. Because of their neuropressure sessions, he knew she was calmest after meditation. But even then, she didn't have true peace and tranquility.
He was getting better at using this sixth sense, too. It wasn't exact; if he sensed frustration, he couldn't tell if it was directed at him, the situation, or something else entirely.
But he had learned how to use what information he did have. As he'd noticed in the mess hall, the sensations moved differently depending on her emotions. Slow waves, even rolls, gentle undulations, and rhythmic dancing meant positive emotions. Rapid movement marked by erratic jerks and starts indicated negative emotions. Sensations like whirlpools or pulsations were the worst, and he'd only felt those twice.
But her face? Stone cold. No clues. A granite cap to a very deep, very active volcano.
Learning this much about her had been fascinating, but distracting. Trip questioned himself more than once—why did he care this much? In the days before she'd come onto him, he'd been flirting with Amanda Cole, imagining a laid-back, fun fling. Not even a week later, he was hard-pressed to even remember why he'd been attracted to the MACO. His night with T'Pol, and this connection he felt with her afterward, had consumed him.
This near-obsession, more than the new awareness of her, was disturbing. He cared about T'Pol—but how deep did it go? These were questions that had no answers. Not yet.
For now, Trip bided his time. Mentioning this new connection to her was out of the question. His own feelings were a puzzle he needed to solve before he even attempted to make sense of hers.
Waiting was just as well, though. When it came to a potential relationship between them, T'Pol was likely to be as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, as his granddad would've said. Oddly, she seemed oblivious to his new connection with her. Maybe it was only on his side? Without proof, any discussion with her was pointless.
So Trip stayed quiet, watching, listening, waiting for some opportunity to test this new connection and determine its potential. And maybe in doing that, he could figure out what to do about it.
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He got his chance sooner than he'd expected. They'd found the Xindi insectoid hatchery, and the captain was acting strange.
"This make any sense to you?" he asked T'Pol as they left Archer's ready room. The captain had just ordered Trip to pull together a team to repair the hatchery to save the Xindi insectoid eggs.
"No," T'Pol said. Her strides were measured beside him; she was deep in thought.
"He's not even letting me lead my own team. Since when is he an engineer?" Trip snapped his mouth closed—he was never this critical of the captain. He was borderline insubordinate. But damn it, the captain was acting odd.
T'Pol let his disrespectful complaint pass without comment. They stopped at the turbolift and she pressed the call button. "I agree. The captain's behavior is a bit—uncharacteristic."
"Downright single-minded," Trip added as they entered the lift. He pressed the button for engineering. "I've known the cap'n a long time, but he still surprises me." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "And just between you, me, and the turbolift, not always in a positive way."
"I am concerned," T'Pol said after a moment of silence. The lift reached its destination and the doors opened. "If we spend too much time here, we will compromise our mission."
Trip followed her out, and she led the way to the engine room. He concentrated, and the flutter in his mind was agitated. Not panicked, not yet. But as she'd said: concerned.
Reaching out a hand, Trip gripped her shoulder before she could open the hatch. The flutter stilled and T'Pol turned to face him.
Trip dropped his hand and stepped back. "Look, the Captain knows what he's doing. We just have to trust that he's got a plan in mind."
The flutter bounced: irritation. "You may choose to adhere to blind optimism, Commander, but I will reserve judgment. I will accompany the captain to the surface. Perhaps I can get him to see reason."
Trip smiled. "You should. I think it would be good to have someone watchin' over his shoulder this time. He's worryin' me, truth be told. But if you think I'm stubborn—"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow, and the flutter danced a bit. Amusement?
"—you've never seen the full extent of Jonathan Archer's bull-headedness."
T'Pol's reply was wry. "I hope to save such an experience for a future date."
It wasn't to be. Trip had a front-row seat to the captain's paranoia beginning to surface. When the converters overloaded and some of the eggs were damaged, Trip and T'Pol had both stood agape as Archer called for a medical emergency to save the tiny Xindi.
The flicker in his mind felt compressed, quavering. He chanced a look at T'Pol, and she met his eyes—the tiniest sliver of fear.
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A day later, everything started to go to hell in a handbasket. First, T'Pol had gotten on the Captain's bad side down on the planet's surface, and he had relieved her of duty. Then Trip had talked to Archer not long afterward, and the conversation had been…weird.
"You're in charge, Trip," Archer had said over the comm after nonchalantly briefing him on T'Pol's confinement to quarters, and Trip's mouth had dropped open in disbelief.
"If you don't mind me sayin' so, Cap'n, what the hell happened down there?"
Archer laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "I've just gotten a little too complacent around Vulcans, I think." His voice hardened. "T'Pol crossed the line. She needs a time out."
Good Lord, this was getting out of hand. Trip frantically searched for a way to get a better answer without stirring the hornet's nest. "What did she say?"
"That's not important," Archer said. "Water under the bridge. She'll cool her heels for a bit and once we get this thing running, I'll talk to her and if she's sorry enough, I'll reinstate her."
If she's sorry enough? Trip's eyes widened. This was bad. Really bad.
"The point is, I'm counting on you, Trip," Archer continued. "We'll get underway as soon as the hatchery's fixed. But to do that, I need that antimatter down here. Yesterday."
"It's going to take a lot, sir," Trip said carefully. "It'll deplete our reserves awful low—"
"I'm well aware of that. It's important." Archer paused and his voice became distant as he gave instructions to a crewmember close by. When he turned back, he said, "You're the only one I trust. I know I can depend on you to do the right thing."
"And you're sure this is the right thing?"
An uncomfortably long silence followed.
"You know, I'm getting damn tired of everyone questioning simple orders," Archer said, his voice grinding at Trip. "You either get that antimatter down here, or I will find someone who will. I don't care if I have to confine everyone down to the chef's assistant to quarters until I get the obedience I'm due as the captain of this ship."
"Yes, sir," Trip said quickly. "We'll get on that, ASAP."
"Good. Let me know when you're ready for transport."
Archer cut off the transmission before Trip could respond.
Trip had stared at the comm controls in disbelief for a few minutes. This was turning into a farce. Everything was upside down. A strange mixture of shame, guilt, anger, annoyance, loyalty and protectiveness swirled inside him. Problem was, he wasn't sure who it was all for. Or against.
On the one hand, this fledgling connection he had to T'Pol gave him a driving need defend her, to speak up for her, to drop everything and head for her just to be close to her. He hadn't heard her side yet. And the captain was more than a little prickly.
On the other hand, Jonathan Archer was his oldest friend. This current situation notwithstanding, he trusted his captain. Trip had been on the other side of T'Pol's infuriating logic more than once. If she'd dug in her heels, adopting that "you're being an illogical and therefore stupid human" thing she did sometimes, Trip had no doubt the captain might've snapped, pushing back against her. It was completely understandable.
He needed to talk to T'Pol. Heading for her quarters after getting a team started prepping the antimatter for transport, Trip turned the corner down another corridor. His steps slowed.
Whose side should he be on?
Before that night with T'Pol, Trip would've sided with Archer, no questions asked. If his relationship with T'Pol was solely first officer to second, he would support the captain. But it wasn't just first officer to second anymore, was it? And this wasn't a normal situation. The captain was making choices even Trip found, well, unusual, to put it nicely.
Then again, Captain Archer had made some unusual leadership choices in the past, and everything had come out all right in the long run. Jon had proven, time and again, that he deserved Trip's patience. Trip's trust. Trip's loyalty.
T'Pol had to have gone too far. There was no other explanation. He needed to support the Captain, and pretend his newfound connection to her didn't exist. He'd do his duty. He just had to reassure T'Pol that everything was being handled and then try to do his best to get through this challenge.
Trip rounded the corner in the last corridor, T'Pol's door coming into view.
A few feet away, he could feel her inside, agitated. The sensation pulsed. She was on edge, not that anyone could blame her.
Corporal Chang stood sentry by her door. Trip gave him the once-over. "I need to see T'Pol."
Chang's spine got stiffer. "I'm not supposed to let anyone in, sir. Corporal Hayes' orders."
Trip glanced down and saw Chang's grip on his rifle tighten. He decided to adopt a no-nonsense, superior officer tone. "Look, we don't have to turn this into a thing, do we? I'm not here to chit chat. I've got a neuropressure session. Doctor's orders."
Trip waited, watching the indecision flick across Chang's face before continuing. "You know Doctor's orders supersede everything. We can take it there if you want to." Shrugging, Trip turned his hands upward and gave Chang a look like he'd be an idiot to argue. "But it's your choice, Corporal."
Chang frowned, and Trip knew what he was thinking: this could turn into a headache. A headache that required paperwork. Reports. Explanations to his superior officer. Besides, what could this hurt? Everyone knew Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol had been having these sessions for a while now.
Chang backed away, giving him access.
Trip crossed the threshold. T'Pol was in front of him in an instant.
"Report, Commander."
Trip raised an eyebrow. She rarely got this authoritative with him—but the demand was in line with the emotions he could feel practically radiating from her. Still, if she'd taken this tone with the captain—well, he could see why she might've pushed all of their commanding officer's buttons.
Calming her would've been nice, but none of his news would help. "We're prepping the antimatter for transport now."
At that, the flicker in his mind pulsed stronger.
"I did talk with him," Trip said, trying to speak in his own defense. "He assures me everything will be fine. Once we get the hatchery working, we'll be on our way."
He said it as much to convince himself as to reassure her. She didn't buy it.
T'Pol paced away from him. "We shouldn't be here fixing it in the first place. Our antimatter supply is too important. Our mission should come first."
"I'm not arguing with you," Trip said quietly. "But I'm not sure what else we can do. The captain's still the captain."
She didn't look at him, facing the window, her shoulders stiff. The flutter pulsed, and Trip knew he had to do something, fast.
"He's never let us down before, T'Pol. He deserves our trust."
Turning to face him, T'Pol held his gaze with a determination Trip hadn't seen from her in a very long time. "You agree that the captain's behavior is unorthodox?"
Trip frowned. "It's a little out of character, I guess, but he hasn't been fillin' me in on every detail. He's got his reasons."
T'Pol paced away from him, visibly agitated now. "Reasons that require nearly depleting us of antimatter? Antimatter that is absolutely essential to completing our mission?"
"It's only a third—"
"It is enough!" Her eyes were huge and flashing. She was on the edge, emotions leaking through barriers that were cracking. "He's placing this entire ship in danger. Our mission. The future of your species and mine, and countless other worlds."
"Yes, but—"
"He's preoccupied—no, paranoid." She paused, her eyes begging him to be on her side in this. "You weren't there. You didn't see him—he's not the captain we know. This is excessive, even for a human."
He hadn't been there when the captain had relieved her of duty. Could he be misreading this? T'Pol was absolutely certain this was the right course of action. His intuition told him she believed it wholeheartedly. But if anyone deserved the benefit of the doubt, it was Jonathan Archer.
"I've known Jon a lot longer than you have. He always has a good reason. Always. Even when I've questioned his decisions, I've always come around." Her jaw tensed and he felt the flicker begin to pulse again. Still, he had to ask. "Are you sure you're not overreacting because he benched you? Takin' this personally, maybe?"
T'Pol looked at him like she was questioning his sanity. "I think you are taking this personally," she said, but it wasn't accusatory. "You're letting your friendship with the captain cloud your judgment. If he was anyone else—"
Trip searched her eyes for a moment before realizing she was right.
"I questioned the fact that he put the lives of his crew, the lives of all of humanity, ahead of the lives of Xindi eggs," she continued. "And he relieved me of duty. Does that sound like the Jonathan Archer you know?"
T'Pol reached out, placing a trembling hand on his forearm. Immediately, Trip's connection to her was amplified. She believed what she was saying. In her mind, she had merely been doing her duty—supporting the captain and keeping him from making a costly mistake.
He studied her eyes. "I'd like to think you're overstating things, but I believe you. If you're absolutely sure his behavior is this out of character?" he said uncertainly.
"I am."
He sighed, making his decision. "So what do we do?"
She dropped her hand. "Preserving the antimatter is the first priority."
Trip didn't disagree, but they didn't have a lot of options. "I'm not sure anything short of a mutiny is gonna get the cap'n to change his mind."
"It may come to that."
"I'm not ready to go that far. I'm still holdin' out hope that he'll see reason. Maybe if I talk to him again—"
"Then you'll end up confined to quarters as well." She looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. "There is another way," T'Pol said, coming close and staring intently into his eyes. "Speak with Phlox. He needs to run a full exam on the captain."
Trip's eyes widened. He should've thought of this earlier. "Are you thinkin' he's bein' influenced somehow?" It made some sense.
T'Pol inclined her head in a nod. "Our only avenue other than mutiny is to relieve him of command on medical grounds. Only Phlox can do that."
Trip's mind sputtered at the thought. Relieve the captain of duty? Over something like this? It went against everything Trip stood for. But what other options did they have? He dropped his head and sighed. "Yeah, okay. I get your point. The antimatter is too important."
For the first time since he'd entered the room, Trip felt the sensation in the back of his mind grow calm. She felt supported and validated.
"How long do we have before the reactor's repaired?" T'Pol asked.
"Twelve hours, give or take. Hoshi's still working on translating the interface."
"That may give us enough time. Phlox will agree—he's seen the captain's behavior first hand."
Even so, this was not going to be easy. "I hope this works," Trip said. "Otherwise you and I are going to be gettin' cozy in the brig."
T'Pol raised both eyebrows this time. She considered this an acceptable risk.
Trip still felt uneasy. Logic may say that relieving the captain of duty was the right course of action, but it didn't sit well with him. Studying T'Pol's face, Trip revealed his final protest. "You're askin' a lot of me, T'Pol. I'd be betrayin' him—"
The sensation in his mind made a stroking motion, something he hadn't felt before. It was soothing, somehow. Reassuring.
"This is the right decision," she said softly. "The future of humanity and Vulcan hangs in the balance."
Shoulders slumping, Trip yielded completely. "You're right. I'll get started." He headed for the door. At the threshold, he turned back. "You really think he's bonded to these things?"
T'Pol had followed him, her arms crossed over her abdomen. "It is the only solution that makes logical sense. He's territorial. Protective. Dropping everything to see to their needs."
Trip's eyes widened. Hadn't he just done the same thing, dropped everything to get here, to T'Pol?
No, this was different.
Wasn't it?
"You seem agitated," T'Pol said, searching his face. "Is there something you haven't told me?"
Trip tried to pull the surprise from his face and will his heartbeat to slow. "No, nothing important," he said. "I'll head to Phlox. I'll keep you posted."
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The captain's initial recalcitrance meant mutiny had been their only option. But T'Pol had been right. It wasn't a bond exactly, but the tiny insectoids had imprinted on the captain. He had been physically and then emotionally manipulated into protecting them, even at the expense of their mission.
Trip had listened to Phlox's explanation of the captain's status with a growing sense of dread. If he subtracted the method of delivery, and the intensity of the symptoms, what the doctor was describing was uncanny in its familiarity. Sure, he hadn't jeopardized the mission to protect T'Pol. But he hadn't been put on the line like that, either. And when she'd pushed for mutiny?
He'd been determined before he saw her to support Captain Archer. But then she'd convinced him to betray the captain—well, Trip couldn't say he'd argued much.
It didn't make him feel any better that she'd been right. The truth remained—he'd done a 180 in less than 10 minutes because of this connection to her.
After an hour or two in Engineering, Trip's anxiety had reached a level that couldn't be ignored. He'd taken on some routine maintenance tasks, but he'd had to re-do them both because of his distraction. After the third try led to a finger smashed so bad it was throbbing, Trip headed back to sickbay.
"Doc, you got a second?"
Dr. Phlox turned away from the equipment he'd been sterilizing. "Of course, Commander. What can I do for you?"
Trip held up his hand. His index finger was swelling, the nail bed turning purple. "Jammed my finger."
"Hard work does have its downside," Phlox said cheerfully, leading him over to the examining table and pulling up a cart with the necessary first aid supplies.
"I'll need to drain some of the blood to release the pressure." He administered a local anesthetic and went about the task efficiently.
Trip watched, feeling detached. As Phlox finished up, Trip looked around sickbay, trying to check all the nooks and crannies. "You alone?"
Phlox finished treating the small incision and began wrapping Trip's finger. "Just me and my menagerie," he said with a laugh. "That sounds like an excellent title for an Earth musical, doesn't it?"
Trip forced a grin. "Sure, doc. Sounds great."
Adding some adhesive to fasten the bandage, Phlox stepped back. "That will do it. Perhaps you should stick to paperwork for a few days, hmm?"
"Sure thing." Trip said, and hopped off the table. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Was there even a point to mentioning this?
"Is there something else I can help you with?" Phlox glanced over his shoulder as he disposed of the used supplies and tidied up his workspace for later use.
"I—" Trip stopped. Why was this so hard to say?
"Why don't we talk in my office?" Phlox said, his face turning somber. "You seem like you have a lot on your mind."
Trip followed him into the small room off sickbay, easing into one of the guest chairs. He'd only been in here a handful of times. This was a busy ship, and Phlox was a busy doctor. Not sleeping much except during his hibernation cycle, Phlox tended to complete most of his reports late at night when the main part of sickbay was empty. It was rare to see him behind his desk during first and second shifts.
"Would you care for some tea?" Phlox said, gesturing to the small pot sitting on a warming plate. He was pouring a cup for himself.
"No thanks."
"So what can I do for you?"
"Well," Trip felt his throat constrict, mouth suddenly dry. He looked down, fiddling with the new bandage. "I—ah—kind of have a personal problem. It may have a medical component."
Phlox seemed a little to eager at that cryptic description. "How intriguing. Go on."
Trip met his eyes. "Look, you're gonna keep quiet about this, right?"
"Of course. I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously."
"Even if it involves another crewmember?"
Phlox leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his tea. "Well, I suppose it depends on how deeply they're involved. If their health is at risk, I would feel duty-bound to inform them."
"Uh-huh."
Phlox raised an eyebrow and asked carefully, "Is someone else's health at risk?"
"No! At least, I don't think so."
Setting his mug down, Phlox said gently, "We seem to be talking in circles, Mr. Tucker. Why don't you begin again?"
Trip sighed. "Problem is, I'm not sure where to start."
"Why don't you begin when the 'medical component,' as you put it, came into play?"
Leaning forward in the chair, Trip put his elbows on his knees and concentrated on the floor. "It started about a week ago. The morning after the first time T'Pol and I—" Trip made a vague gesture.
"Ahh."
Trip shot a glance up at Phlox's face, feeling relieved to see nothing but compassion. "Yeah."
Phlox's tone turned businesslike. "What are your symptoms? I am not aware of any sexually transmitted diseases between humans and Vulcans, but it is not impossible. There's just so little data on the subject…"
Trip felt his face flush. He looked back down at the floor. "It's not like that, honest. It's not even physical. It's mental."
"I'm not sure I follow."
"Mental's not the right word." He studied the calluses on his hand and searched for something that seemed better suited. "Neurological?"
Phlox's eyes widened. "You've noticed a difference in your brain function?"
"I guess," Trip sat up again and shrugged. "At first I just thought it was the result of us gettin' closer. I've never experienced somethin' like this, so I thought it might be just our chemistry, you know?"
"But it's not just that?"
"No. I'm just more aware of her." Trip paused, trying to find the words to describe this. "It's like I can sense her, somehow. I can't really explain it—like a sixth sense I've never had before is suddenly there, and only concentrated on her."
Phlox studied him so long that Trip started to squirm. The doctor seemed to arrive at a conclusion eventually and continued. "Vulcans are a telepathic race. It is possible that a sexual relationship has some telepathic component."
"I guess that could be it," Trip conceded. "But wouldn't you think she'd feel it, too? I don't think she's noticed it at all."
"Have you discussed this with her?"
Trip frowned. "No. What if it's all in my imagination?"
"So you'd like physical proof of a telepathic link before you broach the subject."
"Have you ever tried to convince her of anything without proof?" Trip challenged.
Phlox smiled. "I see your point." He turned serious. "And you don't believe she is experiencing similar symptoms."
"No. She's given no hint of it. If anything, her behavior has proven that she doesn't have the same intuition I have."
"Interesting. So what makes you think this is a problem?"
"Well ordinarily, I wouldn't. But then this thing just happened with the captain—"
"The imprinting?" Phlox seemed intrigued by the idea.
"Yeah. And that got me thinkin'. What if the same thing's happening to me?"
"You're concerned you are becoming too attached? Displaying signs of paranoia, etc.?"
"Well, no, it's not that bad. But she's got a hold on me, an influence that makes me uneasy. I'm findin' myself changin' my mind way too fast. Like I'm trying to align myself to her or somethin'. I feel out of balance unless we're on the same page."
"Is this just a general feeling, or do you have specific evidence?"
"She got me to agree to mutiny awful fast," Trip said ruefully, rubbing his eyebrows.
A compassionate smile crossed Phlox's face. "T'Pol's instincts were correct. You could have simply recognized the truth in her logic more quickly than you would have before. Perhaps this new connection is more of a benefit than you realize."
"Maybe. But what if it gets more intense?" Trip stopped and stared at Phlox, desperate for some guidance. "I hadn't thought that far, about paranoia like the Captain, but since you mentioned it—"
"I did not mean to be alarmist, Commander," Phlox said soothingly. "And the likelihood of that being the case is minimal, considering how long has passed since your sexual relations. You said a week ago?"
Trip nodded. "It doesn't seem to be getting worse, not really. I was just more concerned about the strength and permanence of it, I guess. What if we don't work out? We could be stuck with each other."
"There are other telepathic species who form a psychic bond when mating. Although Vulcan is very closed on this topic, I would suspect that a similar phenomenon is present in intraspecies relationships. But Vulcans rarely choose mates from other species—I have no data to access." He paused. "Do you have additional intimacies planned with Commander T'Pol?"
"No, but we didn't exactly plan this time, either. Sometimes things just—naturally progress."
Phlox smiled widely. "And isn't that the fun of romance! When I met my first wife, Vesena, we weren't even attracted to one another. But working closely together," he sighed, "led to incredible marital bliss."
Trip watched as Phlox stared off in the distance, reliving what must be pleasant memories. It was uncomfortable.
"That's nice," he finally said when Phlox didn't show signs of returning to the conversation.
The doctor looked back at him, unfazed. "Of course, every case is different. You know, commander, even if this is some type of psychic bond, there is no certainty that it is permanent. It could simply fade over time. Do you feel the connection continuously?"
"No, only when we're close to each other. Ten feet or so, max."
"Well then, despite your concerns that T'Pol has a strengthened influence over you, I see nothing inherently harmful in this. However, if it will ease your mind, I could give you a full neurological scan and compare it to the last scan I have on file from a month or so ago when you were injured."
"I would appreciate it, doc."
"I can also give you a small neural monitor. It will collect data on your brain activity, and we can compare that with your daily movements and interactions. This may tell us if there are changes when you are in the vicinity of Commander T'Pol, and your sixth sense, as you call it, is activated."
"Thanks. I know I'm bein' kinda suspicious—"
"Not at all, Commander. Not at all. Considering recent events, it is advisable to be cautious."
Phlox led him back into the main part of Sickbay. He ran a quick scan in the imaging chamber and then attached the neural monitor with little fanfare.
"Come back and see me in about a week," Phlox said. "Unless, of course, you notice significant changes in the symptoms."
"Yeah, okay." Trip hopped off the scanning bed, hesitating.
Phlox turned back to him. "You still seem concerned." Patting him gently on the shoulder, Phlox said, "I assure you, nothing you have described seems life-threatening."
"That's not what I'm concerned about," Trip said. "If I am imprinted, or bonded, or whatever, what if there's no way out of it?"
Phlox shrugged. "We do not have enough data to make such an assumption yet. What is the phrase humans use? 'Borrowing trouble'?"
Trip smiled sheepishly. "I guess I am gettin' a bit ahead of myself."
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A/N: Thanks for reading! I appreciate all the reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying it.