"Stuck in Here"
Hey.
Hey!
Hey?
Anybody hear me?
I'm still here.
The voices sound like trouble. You can't make out the words, open your eyes, talk, get up and find out what the problem is...
But that doesn't make sense, does it? Weren't you lying on T'Pol's deck, stretched out beside her, learning how to do neuropressure on her pretty little Vulcan feet? Weren't you hoping your sweats were loose enough where it counted to hide what the sight of her in that fuschia crop top and hip-hugging lounge pants was doing to you? The candlelight was caressing her stupendous curves, and you wanted to caress her everywhere it touched, breathe in her perfume, lose yourself in her -
Damn. Thoughts like that could be embarrassing -
Except you're not in her quarters. You wonder how you know – and then you don't wonder. It's like feeling the engines – when you're in her personal space, you can just feel it. Everyone else, even the Cap'n, has quarters. T'Pol – well, she has a retreat, a cocoon you'd love to curl up into...stay forever...
The voices come closer. Now, you can make out a few words -
"Brain damage."
"Bounced off the catwalk rail – incredible force upon impact -"
"Deep coma - "
"Prognosis poor – nothing I can do -"
**
Hey!
It's not as bad as all that. Listen to me – I'm still alive, I'm still in here. My brain's OK, working fine. Remembering being with her...telling her my ideas for the engine modifications. She was relaxed, interested...we were like good friends...or maybe more...maybe more like lovers...
And then there had been that last posture -oh, hell...no way to hide anymore, not with her leaned over the part of me that's got no shame, not when I could smell her, so close...too close...not close enough. Not even close to close enough.
If she knew what I wanted to do, was imagining doing to her, having her do to me, how I could see straight up that little pajama blouse to her coppery breasts falling free, swaying as she moved...
Was there any way possible she can want me the way I want her? Does she have any idea at all what she's doing to me?
Where are you, T'Pol?
I'm stuck in here, wherever here is, and I've got this funny feelin' they're talkin' about me because I can't move, can't talk, can't even open my eyes but I'm still in here even if the prognosis is poor, oh damn don't let me die -
"Relax, Trip. Breathe."
"T'Pol!" The word wants to rip from your throat as you pull her close, but you can't make that happen. You're trapped, helpless -
"Breathe. I'm here. Breathe."
You can breathe. Slowly. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Like she taught you.
"That's better. Keep breathing. I'm here. I'll stay as long as I'm able."
"No one else can hear me. How come you can?"
'That's not important." But it is. You can feel it. She's bothered by it, but also glad she can.
You breathe, slow and steady. You feel her hands move through the poses, feel your energy shifting. It's tiring to try to talk, tiring to think.
"Rest. Just be. That's enough."
Her hands, strong, capable, gentle. Hands that can crush bones, dancing over your neural nodes...
You drift off, remembering, and the memory becomes a hybrid, half a dream, and her touches are caresses, an exploration of your body, those strong fingers light as feathers, learning you -
Jolting awareness...this isn't a dream. She's not doing neuropressure anymore; this is something else, and you can feel her, coming to you through her dancing fingertips. Intent -
Aroused?
"Hell yes, you are!" Amazement – it's so clear, you can feel it in each quivering touch - "Hey, why'd you stop?"
"I shouldn't have - "She's troubled, shocked at herself – ashamed? Yes, that's it. You know you're right without knowing, or really caring, how you know.
"I loved it. Felt – so good. Felt like you, wanting me. Felt like more - "
"More?" Her hand is over your heart; she's quivering, her fingers tracing out, tangling in your chest hair, then back, in time with the beat. Maybe she doesn't know she's doing it – you aren't going to make the mistake of mentioning it again.
"More, woman. I want more. Want to pull you down here with me, show you how much more I want – but I'm stuck here. Take pity – touch me more..." You sigh – only you don't, because you can't. "Touch me anywhere. Touch me everywhere. Let me feel you, and know I'm still alive."
A soft choked sound. "Hey – don't cry."
"Vulcans don't cry."
"Whatever you say. I know the voices think I'm gonna die. Tellin' you, though- I've got other ideas. If I'm gonna do all the things I wanna do with you – gotta get better, you see? So I'm not dyin', and you don't need to cry for me."
"Trip – I have to go."
"Go? Now? Uh-uh. Stay with me...no one else can hear me. They touch me like I'm machinery – you touch me like I'm still me..."
"I must tend your engines – until you're well enough to return to them." Shadows and shadings; there's trouble, and she's still afraid you won't get beter.
You won't let her know you know. "Take good care of them."
"I'll do what I'm able. And I'll be thinking of you, as I work. I don't know when I can come back -"
"I'll be right here, when you do. Promise."
"It's illogical to make a promise you may not be able to keep."
"Never said I was logical, T'Pol. That's your department. Besides, I already promised. Too stubborn to back down; too stubborn to die. So there."
"Where?" You can feel that she knows what you meant; that she often knows, but she's made a game of pretending...sneaky, playful troublemaker...
"Go on. You can't come back to see I'm right until you go. Be good to my engines."
"T'hy'la." A soft word whispered into your mind; two trembling fingers pressed, just for a heartbeat, against your lips. You feel things, in that alien word that doesn't feel so alien, and in that touch, and what it means to her to give it to you. So much held in so little...
She's gone, and yet, you can still hold to her, feel her. Maybe it's just imagination, but that's OK. The voices come and go, hands come and move you, do things to your body that never touch your mind. Go away again. To them, you aren't here; you don't try to change their minds.
There's no need.
She knows you're here; knows you're stuck, but here. And she's with you, somehow.
You hold onto that and let everything else go.