Rating: PG in this chapter.
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
A/N: Thank you so much to Aquarius and Crystalswolf for all their valuable help on this tricky chapter. Also note, this chapter has TnT in the aftermath of Baby Elizabeth's funeral, and therefor there is necessary sadness. Also, T'Pol reaction was inspired by what Old T'Pol said in E2 about her needing an outlet for her emotions.
Just before they had arrived, Valrick had asked Trip about human funeral rituals so he could incorporate some into Elizabeth's ceremony. Trip was such a wreck he could barely remember any, but he managed to blurt out something about flowers, and Valrick had made certain that cut flowers adorned the walls of the cave around where Elizabeth would be buried.
Most of the flowers were Vulcan, but Trip recognized daisies, pansies and even a few tiny roses among them. He wound up grabbing a bunch of daisies and putting them atop Elizabeth's tiny casket before it was gently pushed into the wall of the catacomb next to her grandmother's large one. The Vulcan rituals were simple, efficient and didn't seem cold to him, and thankfully, the ceremony did not last long.
On the way, out, he plucked one single rose and gave it to T'Pol without a word. After she accepted it, she looked into his eyes. Something sparked between them, and he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he held back.
The monks were gone, and they stood alone in the crypt where Elizabeth's tiny casket had been interred. He had kept it together through the funeral rites, thanks to T'Pol sending him some of her Vulcan control through their bond. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable in front of the Valrick and the others or let his emotions trigger hers.
"What shall I do with the rose?" asked T'Pol softly.
"Anything you want. . .but my Mom would press flowers between the pages of books to preserve them. I used to think that was silly when we had a stasis chamber, but she was old-fashioned that way."
T'Pol nodded. Her lip quivered, and her hands shook as they held the flower. Trip knew her control was coming undone, as was his right along with it. Or maybe it was the other way around.
He didn't know what to do. If she were human, he'd have pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried it out, but he remembered her words . . .long ago words, it seemed. . .about Vulcans not being afforded the luxury of letting go of their control. He feared that physical contact with him would cause the bond to open up a floodgate between them, one neither of them could handle.
"Is . . .is there any way I can help you?" he asked, his concern for her momentarily pushing aside his grief.
She blinked at the question, and she appeared to consider it. She tried to speak, looked down at the flower and then into his eyes. He sensed she was distressed beyond what was normal, even under the circumstances.
She reached up with her free hand and touched his face, giving him a jolt of bond energy. Then, suddenly, the energy was gone as if she had sucked it back into her mind, away from him. He desperately tried to search her mind for something, anything that would assist him.
"Talk to me, hon," he whispered, "Tell me how to help you."
A small trickle of green blood began to flow out her nose, and she removed her hand from his face and touched the blood. She examined her fingers for a moment before her eyes rolled back in her head.
He leapt forward and caught her in his arms as she collapsed forward. He gently set her on the floor, realizing to his horror that neither of them had brought a communicator. He set her head back to stop the nose bleed and began shouting for help, hoping that one of the monks had lingered.
The green hue had drained from her face, but she still gripped the rose in her hand. The thorns had pricked her fingers so that they too bled, and Trip stared down at the green blood dripping off the stems. Worse, he wasn't sensing any emotion flowing from the bond, only a blank, empty sensation.
In the distance, he heard footsteps coming toward them. He hoped help would arrive in time.
T'Pol groggily opened her eyes, squinting at the bright light. She looked around and saw nothing but white around her. She sighed deeply, and somewhere distant, she thought she could hear Trip's voice, but she couldn't make out the muffled words. She yawned and stretched, and she slowly sat up.
Much closer, she heard a different sound. A soft, agreeable noise. She got to her feet, and she walked toward it. Soon, she found a bassinet and inside it lay Elizabeth. The baby wiggled absently and made pleasant gurgling noises. T'Pol reached down and took the baby into her arms.
"I was told you were dead," whispered T'Pol. She wanted to soothe her daughter somehow, though it rapidly became clear that Elizabeth was comforting her rather than she giving the comfort.
It didn't matter. T'Pol cradled the child, enjoying the sound of her heartbeat. She closed her eyes and again thought she heard Trip's voice. Trip. . .she knew she needed to find him. He needed to see Elizabeth, but for some reason she couldn't think of where to look for him.
As soon as the cabin door shut behind him, Trip's control dissolved into pearls of laughter. He first looked down at the floor then slowly up at T'Pol, who had seated herself down in one of the chairs and was removing her shoes. Her face showed no emotion, of course, but he recognized a twinkle in her eye that indicated she was just as amused as he was.
"Baby," he said as his laughter calmed, "I didn't catch half of that conversation. . .but you wanna tell me what that old lady meant by attending to your physical needs? And why she thought you were so lucky to have me?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow.
"She asked why we were traveling together, and I told her that I required you to assist me with my research on human kinetics."
Trip grinned. He was pretty sure that that elderly Vulcan woman knew exactly what T'Pol meant by human kinetics, and he was pretty sure T'Pol knew she did, too. Vulcans sure loved their euphemisms.
They may not lie, but they sure do like to dance on top of the truth. He bit his lip, but she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"I told the truth. I've always found my friendship with you to be valuable in understanding humans, and this journey has been particularly. . .enlightening."
Trip sat down next to her and started to take off his own boots. She wasn't wrong there. Their night together in The Expanse had been wonderful, but they'd learned a lot more about each other in the past few days. Not having death and destruction constantly hanging over their head sure helped in that area.
"We've still got two more days," he replied.
"And we'll have the return journey as well," she said as she began to undress. Trip grinned, and he realized he was truly happy for the first time since the Xindi attack.
Trip opened his eyes and returned to the present, where he sat in a big, comfortable chair next to T'Pol's hospital bed. The immaculate building, constructed of stone and obviously quite ancient, didn't feel much like a hospital, although high tech equipment was evident as orderlies moved blinking devices from room to room.
An attendant, who had been checking T'Pol's vital signs, nodded curtly and started to leave.
"Wait a minute," said Trip, "How is she? What's going on? Nobody's told me anything."
The attendant blinked at him.
"There's nothing to tell, Commander," he replied, "A neurological specialist has been summoned, and Lady T'Pol's medical records have been requested from Starfleet. Beyond that, I can say no more, since you are not a family member."
Trip sighed.
It had been almost ten hours, and the Vulcans had no answers. Trip was exhausted, sad and worried. He knew he needed sleep but resolved to fight the need until the specialist arrived and could tell him something, anything about what was wrong with her. The low light wasn't helping matters either. When the physicians came to examine T'Pol's comatose form, the lights in the room brightened, but otherwise they were dim.
In the shadowy light, T'Pol looked pale but oddly peaceful. Somehow, instinctively, Trip thought she must be escaping her grief. Wherever her mind was, she had found a respite from the turmoil of the past few weeks. That had to be part of this, but he didn't even know if he should suggest that to these Vulcan doctors.
Valrick appeared in her doorway.
"The specialist is here, Commander," said Valrick, "He needs to examine her."
About time, thought Trip as he got to his feet.
"I guess I'll wait outside," replied Trip.
The old Vulcan monk's expression was serene and kindly, and he directed Trip to a waiting area - where Trip waited.
The Vulcan specialist exited T'Pol's room with Valrick at his side and was walking away when Trip spied him from the waiting area. Trip stood and caught up to the doctor and the monk.
"How is she? Do you know what's wrong with her?"
The doctor looked at Trip, but he did not immediately reply. He glanced over at Valrick, and then he spoke.
"I can only speak with members of her family regarding her condition," replied the doctor.
"She's got no immediate family," replied Trip, "Her mother's dead. . ." His voice trailed off. He wondered if the fact that he and T'Pol had had a child would give him any pull at all. He looked a Valrick, who gave him another peculiar look.
Suddenly, Trip spoke without thinking.
"I've got a bond with her. . .one of these telepathic bond deals. Doesn't that count for somethin'?"
The doctor glared at him and gave Valrick a pointed look.
"Syrannite superstition might influence some these days, but it does not influence me."
The doctor turned to walk away, and Trip moved to follow but Valrick stopped him. The doctor disappeared down the corridor.
"You won't convince him, Commander," said Valrick, "He's suspicious of the new order. However, since the revolution, we Syrranites have some influence over the courts. We consider a mate bond a marriage and therefore in our eyes, T'Pol is your mate."
Trip's heart started to beat faster. That was good news, at least he thought it was good news. He had a sinking feeling, too. Would T'Pol trust him to make decisions for her? Would she want him to step forward as her mate?
"But. . ." Trip couldn't finish.
"Listen to me, Commander. Since T'Pol has no immediate family, the doctor can pursue whatever treatment he sees fit. He spoke to me about it, as I was counseling her before her collapse. The only reason I can reveal what he said to me is because I consider you her mate."
Trip nodded. "Go ahead. . ."
"I'm not sure how much she has told you about her medical history, but she has suffered a great deal these past few years. She's had a series of neural traumas that have made emotional control difficult for her, and the intensity of yesterday's events finally became too much for her. Her neural pathways simply could not handle the stress of suppressing her emotions."
Trip nodded slowly. Damn her, he thought. She should have . . .said something. Done something. He would have helped her.
"The doctor has a treatment plan that I do not believe is in T'Pol's best interest. He wishes to use nano-technology to remove the memory engrams that are evoking the problematic emotion. This would mean wiping her memory of the past four years, including her relationship with you, Commander, as well as her service aboard the Enterprise. After that, she would be placed in a Monastery and put through the process of Kolihar."
Trip closed his eyes. The monk's words were like a kick to the stomach.
"She wouldn't want that. Despite everything, I know she wouldn't want that."
Valrick continued, speaking faster. "I have another idea. Although, I'm not sure it isn't just as radical as the one the doctor suggests, but please listen. It's rare that a Vulcan loses a child, and even rarer if they lose one without a mate with whom to share the grief. Whatever some may believe, mate bonds do exist and they perform a serious function. The sharing of grief helps neutralize the danger of suppressing such intense emotion."
Trip thought about the moments before T'Pol's collapse, when he had sensed her pulling back from the bond. . not wanting to let the emotions flow.
"If the bond were fully opened between you," said Valrick, "it would give T'Pol an outlet for her emotions. I believe this would take the pressure off of her neural pathways and allow her brain to heal. However, that action will make the bond between you two permanent. Since she is unconscious, I would assist you in performing a meld which would open the bond."
Trip closed his eyes. He let this information sink in and he breathed out to calm himself. His immediate instinct was to implement Valrick's plan. He knew that T'Pol wouldn't want to forget everything that had happened in the last four years. . .especially Elizabeth. But to permanently become her mate without even asking her, that thought didn't sit well at all.
An idea struck him. They had communicated through this bond over light years. Was it possible that the bond could help him talk to her while she was in a coma?" He looked over to T'Pol's room.
"Can you make it so I can talk to her? I need to ask her what she wants."
"Commander," replied Valrick, "Time is of the essence. . .and . . ." The monk sighed. Then he nodded. "I can try to help you talk to her, but we must hurry."
Trip headed into her room, and Valrick followed. She lay there so peacefully, Trip was almost reticent to disturb her.
"This may not work, Commander," said Valrick, "You need to be prepared to make a decision if it does not."
Trip nodded as Valrick gently placed Trip's fingers on T'Pol's temple. Valrick then placed one of his hands Trip's and the other on Trip's temple.
"If it comes to that, I will do what I have to do" said Trip, "I'll decide for her. But we'll try this first."
Valrick nodded, and Trip's eyes snapped shut. It was all white.