§ 5 §

T'Pol lit the last candle and settled herself, kneeling, in front of it. She closed her eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. Her perception of the outer world gradually dimmed, and she soon found herself in the white, cottoned surroundings that could give her so much peace. Could give her so much peace. Because lately peace, even in this dampened world, was a strenuous exercise to achieve.

Trip was no longer there to distract her; for which she was grateful. It was one of the consequences of them having drifted apart after the death of their daughter. It made it easier for her to try and concentrate. But whenever she reduced her level of consciousness anxiety would rise within her, oppression choked her, and she had to work hard to control them and reach a stage of meditation deep enough to allow her the respite she longed for.

She had never imagined the bond between a mother and her child could be so strong; she had never suspected she could grow so attached to an infant she had not carried in her womb, and that she'd miss her so dearly after knowing her for such a short time. Now more than ever she realised how dangerous emotions could be, and what painful wounds love could inflict. Now more than ever she longed to be a true Vulcan.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Trip drew his legs up and rubbed some warmth into his arms. It wasn't cold, but his clothes were still damp from the rain and he was beginning to feel a bit chilled.

After leaving the bar, he and Malcolm had decided to spend the night in one of the side streets, from where they could keep an eye on the place's entrance. The quarter had been deserted by then, and it had seemed like the best thing to do. Vulcan Intelligence claimed the deal was going to be made within twenty-four hours; they should not leave the bar out of sight, even during closing hours.

Trip glanced to his right at Malcolm. Hands hugging his elbows, one knee up, one leg stretched out in front, he had leaned his head back and was sleeping. Trip watched for a moment the rising and falling of his shoulders, envying his friend's state of unconsciousness. The words that strange guy had told him had sharpened the edges of his feelings again, leaving him deeply unsettled.

He himself had insisted they take turns and each get a bit of rest. Malcolm, of course, had wanted to take first watch, but Trip had known better than to let him. The man would probably pretend to have 'lost track of time' and allowed him to sleep all night. The whole crew treated him with kid's gloves these days, and it truly got on his nerves. It shouldn't, he knew. They were his friends; they were concerned about him. But he was a grown-up man. He could take care of himself. He'd deal with his grief without anyone's help. He had survived the pain of losing his sister; he'd…

Survive…

An image of his child struggling to survive flashed through his mind and the wound in his heart suddenly felt so raw again that he had to bite his lip not to moan out in misery.

Elizabeth, his daughter, had been small, innocent, fragile, and so beautiful. Why would anyone want to use an innocent creature in that cruel way? She had been his child, carried some of his genes. She had been her child too. She could have been a bridge between them, someone to unite them forever. Her death, on the contrary, had only pulled them apart. It had made him realise he could not spend his life loving someone who was so different from him, who pushed emotions aside. Emotions were what made him the man he was. If she could not accept them, he could not see how she could accept him.

He had longed to cry on her shoulder, and feel her tears soak his; he had needed to share the agony of his heart with the only person who would truly know what torture it was like to lose your own flesh and blood; but she had not let him. She would not let the hurt show; she only wanted to exorcise it by clamping down on it, and he had finally come to understand how impossible it would be for him to be the life companion of someone whose goal in life was to become… insensitive.

A sob escaped him, and he realised with a start that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Tears for his sister, and his daughter; tears for a love that could not be.

Malcolm stirred, raising his head abruptly. Damn the man and his light sleep. Just as abruptly Trip turned the other way, pretending not to have noticed, and wiped a quick sleeve over his face.

Silence stretched, which told Trip more than words could. Well, what did he expect? Last time Malcolm had asked him if he was ok, he'd bit his head off.

"Why don't you get some rest now," Malcolm finally croaked out, sounding so ill at ease that for some irrational reason Trip almost bubbled into a laugh; what the hell, he was beginning to be proud of his illogical nature. "I've slept more than enough," Malcolm added in that deep voice of his that was so telling.

"I doubt that," Trip murmured.

He clenched his jaw but tears were still streaming uncontrollably down his face and he kept it carefully averted, although he had no illusions he could hide his state from Malcolm for long. After a moment, in fact, a hand crept over his arm.

"Trip…"

The word sent a wave through him, for it held a small treasure, of the kind T'Pol wanted buried deep. Trip found he could no longer shut his friend out, and turned to eyes which, despite this planet's dark, moonless night, searched his very heart. He held them for a moment, riding a silence that for once meant more than words; then let himself be pulled by a tentative yet determined arm.

The shoulder he ended up soaking was not clad in a catsuit, but right then his overflowing soul couldn't have cared less.

Trip awoke with a start when something shifted under his head, and realised to his embarrassment that he was still leaning on Malcolm's shoulder. Apparently he had cried himself to sleep on it. He hadn't done something like that since he was six or seven years old, when his mother had lulled him to sleep after he hadn't made the baseball team.

Straightening up, he rubbed his swollen eyes; then turned to cast Malcolm a rueful glance.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Sorry I moved and woke you," he muttered. "My arm was getting numb." He clenched and unclenched his hand, wincing.

He sounded embarrassed as well. No wonder; Malcolm was not big on shows of emotion, and Trip had been surprised, if grateful, by his unexpected gesture of comfort. He must have looked like shit to drive his friend to do something like that.

"No, I am sorry," he mumbled back. "Wasn't planning of usin' ya as a pillow…"

"Not a problem," was the quiet reply.

Well, crying himself to sleep had only served to give him a headache. Trip gave Malcolm a fleeting smile that was as fake as they got, for he still felt so damn miserable, and asked, "What time is it?" He glanced towards the bar. No one was around.

"Half an hour before dawn, I'd say."

Trip heaved a deep breath. He wasn't looking forward to the waiting that was still ahead of them. He wasn't in the mood for talking about his feelings, and silence would be awkward. Maybe a couple of minutes' walk would help him clear his mind.

"I need to stretch my legs," he muttered, pushing to his feet. "I'll take a short walk around."

"Commander, I don't know if it's such a good idea," Malcolm immediately said, the use of rank making his objection official.

Trip clenched his jaw in irritation. Like pain, it was never very far away, these days. "I'm only taking a short stroll, Lieutenant," he said, in a voice so harsh that a part of his mind wondered to whom it belonged. "Unless you want me to answer nature's call here in front of you?" he added sarcastically.

Malcolm got up slowly and regarded him with tightly-pursed lips, looking annoyed as well. Letting his eyes grow cold, Trip held his gaze. He knew he was being a damn S.O.B., but life had given him too many kicks in the gut lately: gentleness had sunk to the very bottom of his heart, definitely out of reach.

Swallowing, Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I don't like it, Trip," he said cautiously.

Trip heard his name and knew that Malcolm had used it to appeal, after the Officer, also to the friend.

"I'd prefer if…"

"Keep an eye on that bar, Lieutenant," Trip cut him off, making sure to remind him who was in command. "I'll be back in a few minutes." With a last meaningful, hard look, he turned his back and wandered out into the main street.

He walked for a while trying not to think. But there were far too many things about which not to think; last but not least how he had just treated a friend who had overcome his reserved nature to give him comfort. What the hell was going on with him? He'd have to apologise to Malcolm. Or maybe he wouldn't need to. Malcolm would understand. The man understood him; or so it had been up to now.

Before Trip knew it, he had walked a long stretch, lost in his thoughts. It was when he looked up and saw that the sky was beginning to lose its ink-like blackness that he realised he had been away longer than he'd intended. Cursing inwardly, he stopped in his tracks. Malcolm must be worried sick about him. He turned to hurry back, but his momentum was broken by the sight of a lonely figure a few meters away: it was the strange character they'd met the day before.

"I see you have not found the peace of the soul yet," the man said. As earlier, his voice was soft and gentle, and mesmerising.

Trip studied him. This guy intrigued him. How had he known about his troubles? Was there really a way he could make him forget? He had to know.

"What do you know about my – anyone's soul?" he asked warily.

"I told you. I read the eyes of people." The man took a few steps and, coming to stand in front of him, peered into his eyes. Trip felt riveted to the ground. "A… loss, I read a loss," he said in a veiled voice. "Am I right?"

Trip swallowed. "More than one, actually." He belatedly realised he had spoken the words aloud, but the man's gaze… Biting his lip, he broke eye contact. Malcolm was waiting for him… "I've got to go," he said, making as if to move.

"Yes, painful losses," the man spoke up in a hurry, stopping him. "She - there was a she, wasn't there? She was… unique… Yes, I can see that."

"What do you know about her?" Trip choked out.

"Let me help you ease the burden off your soul."

Trip lost himself in the guy's eyes. The voice was so soothing; the words so comforting… like cold water on burning skin.

"Come with me..."

The man took his hand and Trip let himself be led by the gentle touch and mellow voice. They stopped in a dark alley and the man placed his hands on the sides of his forehead and began chanting a low, droning melody. Trip's breathing almost immediately got deep and rhythmical as his eyelids sank low, too heavy for him to keep open, but his heart was beginning to feel so wonderfully light. As was his head. Trip fell with his back against the wall, strength seeping out of his body. He closed his eyes and all he knew was the comforting voice and his own lungs working in rhythm with it.

TBC