T'Pol
She is abruptly woken when the chime for her door rings. Years of training mean she is cognisant immediately, she has only slept a few hours, but she is puzzled. She had not been expecting visitors, Trip would not visit her here, and she is something of an outcast amongst her people so it is unlikely to be a Vulcan.
When she answers the door she is surprised to find Dr Phlox. She has become more adept at reading emotions over the past three years and she recognises sadness in the Doctor's face.
"I'm sorry Sub-Commander, I have some bad news for you." He tells her.
After the Doctor leaves she is in turmoil. Emotions wash over her faster that she can process them. She paces her room, wrings her hands, picks up her communicator and opens it but does not call anyone. Eventually she sits down at the computer terminal, books a passage back to Vulcan and sends a message to her mother to let her know when she will be arriving. She packs her belongings ready for her imminent departure. All that is left for her to do is wait. Her role in the de-briefing will over tomorrow. There will be no place for her in Starfleet now.
She contemplates life back on Vulcan. Her emotions will repulse Vulcans. Her reputation will precede her. The stain of her illness will mark her. Her mother will not turn her away, familial bonds are prioritised on Vulcan. But her lack of logic will be cause for disquiet.
She thinks about Trip. More emotions flitter about her like a swarm of butterflies and she cannot seem to catch one and pin it down. Their relationship has never been straight forward. She contemplates her life without him. Suddenly she can't breathe, She can feel her chest tightening, her heart pounding. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around her stomach. It feels like the walls are closing in on her. She stands and gropes for the door. She must get out, this place is suffocating her.
She walks, she has no idea where. She is wearing no robes, just the catsuit that has been her uniform for the past year. Some people recognise her and point and whisper. She vaguely notices some hostile glances in her direction but she does not acknowledge them. It starts to rain and the streets clear. Heavy, driving, rain, she wishes it could wash the emotion from her. She is becoming unraveled. Far worse than the aftermath of her addiction.
She finds herself in front of a familiar building. Trip. She climbs the external stairs that take her to his level. She is in front of his door but she can't bring herself to ring the bell. She can hear him moving around inside, a muffled, one sided conversation that must be on the communicator. She is wet and cold. Water drips from her hair, rolls down her face and drops to floor. She decides to leave. She does not move. Suddenly the door opens and he finds her there, silent, wet and shivering. Breathe, she tells herself, just breathe.
Phlox
He has always liked humans, they are so enthusiastic about life, so eager. Perhaps it is their short life span. Vulcans and Denobulans have tended to look down on their shot lived friends. Maybe they are looking at it from the wrong perspective, having less time to get things done has made humans so driven to achieve, so cognisant of the short amount of time they have. Oh yes, they hardly ever stop and think, just rush right in. It doesn't hurt for them to have someone around who has a little more experience with life, just to slow them down a bit, point out the pitfalls. But it's hard not to like them all the same. That's why it is such a shame when they let you down.
Of course, he must be honest, it is not the humans he knows that are the betrayers. He is fairly confident that when the Enterprise crew learn what has been done they will be outraged. She is one of them. She has proven herself over and over again. He likes to think they would allow her to make some mistakes.
He should have paid more attention to her. Should have considered the implications of what she had achieved, what it may have cost her. He should not have pushed her towards the Commander. He sighs, it is the Denobulan way to play matchmaker. Exacerbated by the fatherly affection he feels for the Commander, a hangover from raising his clone, Sim. He should have considered what she would have to sacrifice to take what she so clearly wanted. He should have taken into account the fierce self sufficiency that is driven into Vulcans from an early age, that it would lend itself to drastic measures, that for all her confidence and bravado, her air of total competence, she is still quite young.
He visits her at the compound. He is not pleased by what he sees. She is pale and has lost weight. On the surface she seems to accept what he tells her, what the implications are. She indicates that it is not a surprise, that she had discerned evidence in the debriefing that had led her suspect. She did not realise they would gain access to everything. That he would not be able to protect her, even though he has tried. He urges her to see him the next day, to check the progression of her illness, adjust her medication if required. She does not immediately acquiesce, her answer is vague.
He is still worried about her. She is calm, as he would expect from her kind, but it seems like there is something boiling under the surface. Something more human-like, that often indicates trouble in their individuals. He is uncertain what to do for her, she has refused further assistance - probably a good thing he does not need her to hand him anymore rope for them to hang her with.
He is fairly sure her relationship with the Commander is far more significant than either of them has let on. Perhaps she will accept some assistance from Tucker. It is difficult, he is still bound by patient confidentiality but he can suggest the Commander contact her, check up on her. Hopefully it will be enough. He opens the communicator and puts a call through. The Commander is confused, he seeks clarification Phlox cannot provide, but he does not hesitate to offer her aid. He suspects the Commander would lay down his life for the Vulcan. Hopefully that will not be required this time.
After the call is completed he sits down at his computer and reads through the draft on his screen. He feels a constriction in his chest at what he is about to do but knows it is his only choice after what he was forced to do. He has lost faith. He hits send on the message and watches the little symbol appear that shows it has been sent. He still does not find it any easier to breathe.
Trip
The call from Phlox worries him. There is a tone in Phlox's voice that he hasn't heard before, but he won't (or can't) provide details. As soon as Phlox terminates the call he puts a call through to T'Pol. The communicator rings with no answer. He contacts the Vulcan Compound and is transferred to her room, no one pick ups. He starts to become more concerned. He calms himself down and decides to wait an hour, she may be eating, or exercising, or meditating. If she has not returned his calls after an hour he will go to the Vulcan Compound to see her in person.
He lasts forty-five minutes.
He tries calling her again and after getting no response from her communicator or via the Embassy, he grabs his keys and jacket and decides to go down to the compound and find her in person. He opens the door while shrugging on the jacket and almost walks straight into her, standing on his door step, dripping wet and shivering.
He leads her inside, stopping just inside the door, to go and get her a towel from the bathroom. She's soaked to the skin and in the end he just strips the wet clothing of her, wraps her in the towel and leads he to the sofa in front of the fire. He crouches down in front of her taking her ice cold hands, which have gone a turquoise blue colour, and rubbing them between his. He never seen her so cold before, he never even considered what colour her skin would be when she was cold. She doesn't say anything, just sits there and shivers violently.
He sticks his tongue in his cheek. The only time he's seen her even close to this emotional was at Azati Prime, he didn't know how to get through to her then either. All his instincts are telling him to grill her, find out what's wrong, get her to talk. But there's a part of him that knows that's the human way. She is Vulcan, she will not speak until she's ready. So he holds his tongue even though it takes all his discipline.
Her hands have started to look more of a normal colour but she's still shivering. So he goes to his bedroom and gets his robe and a blanket. He pulls the wet towel off her, wraps her in the robe and puts the blanket over her. Not knowing what else to do he sits down next her and pulls her close.
"Just relax." He tells her. "Talk when you're ready."
After a while her shivering stops and he realises what it is she really needs. He extracts himself from the sofa and walks over to the fire. He picks up the lighter on the mantle and lights the candle by the window. She watches him with wide eyes. He takes her by her hand and leads her to the cushion.
"Come on." He tells her, as he urges her to sit down. "You'll feel better if you do."
She sits down and the over sized robe billows around her and gapes open. He bends down to close it for her and kisses her forehead tenderly. He watches as she slips quickly and easily into her meditation.
He sighs and goes to retrieve her sodden clothing from the floor and puts them through a wash and dry cycle so she has something to wear when she leaves.
He's not quite sure what to do with himself while he waits for her to finish so he goes and sits on his bed with a PADD and clears his messages. He replies to those that require a response, marks for action those he'll need to get to later, forwards those that can be handled by someone else and deletes those that are just junk. He gets to one of the multitude of job offers he gets from the private sector and is surprised when his hand hovers over the delete button. He realises he's intrigued by the project.
Some billionaire from Texas who wants to design a warp engine small enough to fit in a shuttle sized vessel. It's a project he could really get his teeth into, the usefulness of a warp capable shuttle immediately evident. His mind wanders on a little fantasy where he and T'Pol chuck in Starfleet, where a relationship is always going to be a problem, and go to Huston to design warp engines together.
He is jolted from his daydream by the sound of her walking into the bedroom. She looks better, calmer, warmer.
"Feeling better?" He asks, looking up at her with a smile.
She doesn't say anything, just looks at him intently for a minute, then opens the robe and lets it drop to the floor. He doesn't say anything either just reaches out and places the PADD on the bedside table without ever taking his eyes off her. She crawls up the bed to straddle his hips, one hand behind his head the other on the side of his face. He places his arms around her and looks up at her.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He asks. She just shakes her head and kisses him and, for the time being, he's okay with that.
Later, when their lying together, legs tangled, the sweat cooling on their bodies, she lifts her head off his chest and looks him the eyes and implores him. "Promise me that you'll trust in me, that you'll trust in this."
And he does promise, and he truly means it when he does. Because he is not fully aware of his own insecurities where she is concerned, because he doesn't know how fragile his trust is, because he doesn't know how much he needs her to tell him with words and not just deeds. Because when they are together, like this, it is as easy to believe in her as it is to breathe.
XXX