Three Days Too Die

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Enterprise or any of their characters. I just enjoy writing about them.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! I am so glad you're enjoying this story! I had some extra time to work on this story due to Hurricane Florence. I hope that everyone affected by the hurricane is doing well and that there isn't to much material damage!

Now, please enjoy!

T'Pol only remained in Sickbay for a few seconds after the Captain left for the shuttle pod. Her mind was in a swirl between unknown and unbidden, heaven forbid, feelings and the logic to which she was so desperately clinging.

Commander Tucker had really managed to entwine himself in her life. He challenged her and she him. T'Pol had time and again found his perspective to be intriguing and had used his advice on many occasions.

As she had also seen him use hers. Over the last two nights, she had… missed… their neuro-pressure sessions. Time with Trip had become something she looked forward to, despite her desperate resistance.

So far, she had managed to hide these growing and troubling… emotions. But now her restraint was almost at its end. Seeing him in this manner, helpless, lost, at death's door, as many crewmen were saying, was doing something to her that she couldn't explain or comprehend.

Her logic was failing her. She knew that it was illogical to fall in love with an emotional human, but her heart rejected the logic and fell anyway. She knew it was illogical to hope that such feelings would be return, but yet she found herself hoping against hope.

It was also illogical to believe that such an interspecies relationship would be smiled upon by her superiors, but she found that more and more she cared less about the consequences.

Finally reaching the Bridge, she once more broke from her troubling thoughts and once again assured the Captain that the coordinates for the plant had been uploaded to their sensors and that the locals should be a great distance away from their landing zone.

As the Captain, Malcolm, and the away team disappeared into the atmosphere of the planet, T'Pol did her best to stop thinking about Trip. She tried to only see the planet and monitor her scans instead of Trip's deep intelligent blue eyes.

She tried to listen to the conversations floating back and forth across the Bridge instead of hearing Trip's laugh and deep southern voice.

Suddenly, she quietly groaned aloud, causing Hoshi to look at her from her station.

"Sub-Commander?" Hoshi asked, worry and curiosity evident in her tone, "Are you alright?"

Looking over at Hoshi with an emotionless face, T'Pol replied in a clipped voice, "I am fine."

Taking a step back from her station, T'Pol addressed Mayweather, "Ensign Mayweather, you have the Bridge. I will be in my quarters. Notify me if the Captain makes contact."

With that, Mayweather and Hoshi watched as T'Pol made a swift, yet graceful exit from the Bridge. As the door slid closed, they looked at each other and shared a puzzled look.

Neither of them had figured out the Vulcan yet. But they had their suspicions that her behavior had everything to do with Trip's condition.

In her quarters, T'Pol lit a candle. She desperately needed to meditate. She could feel her body reacting to the emotional turmoil she was in and knew that she needed to focus on calming her mind. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and began to let the tension fade. Her thoughts still roamed to Trip, as they ever did, but after some time she was able to suppress them long enough to clear her mind momentarily.

Down on the planet, Archer, Malcolm, and the rest of the away team were searching for the plant. Darkness was vastly approaching, but they were all focusing on getting to the location of the plant.

Their landing had been a little rough, as some unaccounted-for wind had caused trouble for the shuttle pod. When they were finally able to make contact, they realized they had moved off course. Now they were running to make up time.

They were all armed but had no need for other things to load them down, so they traveled light. Their night vision lenses would soon be necessary. Looking at his scanner, Archer realized they still had a few kilometers to go before they reached the plant's habitat.

Given the last encounter with the locals, Archer was constantly on the lookout for surprises. The last thing they needed right now was to run into any trouble. According to Phlox's calculations, Trip's body, even in the coma, could only withstand another day.

Which meant that they needed to be back on the ship as soon as possible. Technically, they had about 23 hours before Trip came to the end of the third day with this toxin in his system. But Phlox didn't know how long the antidote would take to combat the toxin.

And he didn't know how much damage would be done if they pushed it. Therefore, all haste was being made. Finally, 30 minutes later they reached the area where the plant was supposed to be.

Unfortunately, in the dark, even with the lenses, the foliage was hard to separate. Shaking his head in frustration, Archer wished they could catch a break. His best friend's life is at stake here.

Tediously, they kept searching. If felt like hours were passing by and Archer was getting more anxious by the minute.

"Malcolm!" Archer called out in a hoarse whisper, "Have you found anything yet?"

"No, Sir. But we must be getting close!" Malcolm shout-whispered back, "We've covered most of the ground in the area that T'Pol mapped out. There are only a few more sections that we haven't searched."

"What time is it Malcolm?" Archer asked, bending over to check the thick foliage to his left.

"It's twenty hundred hours and fifty-seven minutes, Captain," Malcolm answered, still diligently searching through the foliage.

"Tell the men to double their efforts, Trip can't wait much longer!" Archer said, frustration seeping into his voice as he picked up his pace and held his scanner to the next plant.

Another negative reading. Doubt began to plague him. Perhaps T'Pol had miscalculated.

"We'll find it, Captain." Malcolm said. Archer took comfort in his armory officer's projected confidence and pushed his doubts aside.

T'Pol knew what she was doing. They just have to keep looking.

Back in Sickbay, Phlox again checked Trip's vitals. He wasn't one to look at the gloomy side of things, but Trip's body was growing weaker. His breathing had become shallower and the toxin was definitely affecting his mind.

Even though he was in a coma, his brain waves were all over the place. Phlox was sure that he was having some very violent dreams.

Doing what he could to make Trip comfortable, Phlox then turned to his other patients. The Commander's fate rests in his will to live and the hands of his Captain. Still, Phlox wished there was more he could do, seeing Trip in the manner was unsettling in the least.

Trip himself was vaguely aware of voices and movement. But somehow it was distorted. Somethin' wasn't connecting right. He tried to move, but it was like he was paralyzed.

What had those crazy aliens done to him? Where was the Capt'n, T'Pol? His mind scrambled to make sense of everything.

Suddenly he was standing before a door. It was greyish and looked rough. The room he was in was dark, but there was light peeking out from under the door. Slowly, as if moving through water, he walked towards the door.

His ribs protested and he put his hand to his side, hoping to stop the discomfort. His arm stung when he moved it, but in the dark, he couldn't see anything. Unexpectedly, the closer he got to the door, the colder he got.

It felt like it was winter, and someone had left the door open. Shivering, he reached for the panel beside the door. Pushing the button, the door slid open. As he stepped into the light, he was shocked to see that it was just another room.

But this room had bars instead of a wall and there was a chair in the middle of the room. The sound of screams soon reached his ears. Forgetful of his ribs, he rushed to the bars on the other side of the room.

"Hey!" He yelled, straining to see through the bars. He didn't know where he was or what was going on, but he couldn't just stand there and listen to someone's screams.

Slowly a figure approached from out of nowhere, but the screams continued.

"What are you doing to them?" He asked, anger in his voice. He tried to make out the figure, but the light above him was too bright and the area the figure stood in too dark, his eyes couldn't adjust.

"That is none of your concern." They responded, their voice tainted with an unfamiliar accent. "You, Commander, should only be worried about yourself." The figure then pressed a button on some handheld device.

The next thing Trip knew he was on his knees, electricity zapping through his body.

"Ahhhh!" He screamed, gasping for breath and holding his side. Then the door to what he now believed to be a cell opened. Two other figures rushed in and grabbed his arms, oblivious to the scratches which were making themselves known, and sat him roughly in the chair.

"W-what do you w-want." Trip asked breathlessly, his head tilted forward as he tried not to pass out. Again he heard screams coming from what he assumed to be other cells. Faintly, he recognized one of the screams as coming from Archer.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to look square at the figure, but they were still standing in the shadows. He couldn't make out what species they were. The figure just stood there. Archer's screams again reached his ears and Trip did his best to fight the hands holding him to the chair.

He struggled despite the pain, but it was of no use. He couldn't get free of their grip. Grunting, he attempted to speak, but no words would come out of his mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the figure spoke.

"Where is it?" They asked, their accented voice agitated and impatient.

"Where i-is what?" Trip asked, finally getting his voice to work, his tone confused and agitated. What could he possibly have that they would want?

"Why can't we find it?" The figure asked with more force behind their words.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Trip shook his head, trying his best to figure out what they wanted.

Sighing, the figure made a motion or signal and the other figures who had been standing behind him stepped around. At some point, the light must have moved, because now it was shining directly behind their backs and he couldn't stand to look at them.

For a second, they just stood there, then the one on the right stepped forward. Trip thought at first that he might ask another question, but he quickly realized that that was not what was intended.

Swiftly, Trip received a blow to the head, jerking him from one side of the chair to another. Another quickly followed the first, this one landing squarely on his chin. Spitting blood, he tried to form a question but was interrupted by another blow.

Grunting, he rolled his eyes, "You fellas should really learn to ask more detailed questions." The last of his statement came out as a whisper, but by the chuckles from his torturers, he knew they heard him.

Well, at least they have a sense of humor.

Suddenly, another blow to the head knocked all thoughts from his mind. He felt his skin tear and blood began seeping down his face.

Doing his best to remain conscious, Trip fought to breathe through the pain, but the next blow was too much, and everything faded, the screams from the other cells still ringing in his ears.