—Chapter 22—
T'Pol had finished the 7th mochi on this night since Commander Tucker's mission had begun, and was now laying in bed, in the darkness, waiting for her mind to wind down and sleep to claim her, when she noticed a change in the Enterprise significant enough to draw her attention from her misery. She moved for the comm.
"T'Pol to Bridge."
"Yes, SubCommander," said Ensign Sato, who was being cross-trained this entire month and serving as Acting Captain of the night watch.
"Why have we dropped out of warp?"
"We are to rendezvous with the Vulcan diplomatic shuttle, V'irsse."
"For what purpose?" said T'Pol, heart beating like a taiko drum. "This is not a scheduled event."
"The V'irsse is delivering two of our crewmen, sir."
"ETA?"
"Twenty-two minutes, sir."
T'Pol had heard enough. Moving like a cheetah, she stripped, showered, applied the minimal makeup she preferred, dressed and then walked to the access hatch with 1.2 minutes to spare. The captain was already there, eager to see his crewmen.
"The Vulcan shuttle just docked, T'Pol."
"Yes, Captain, I see," said T'Pol, heart racing and stomach knotted, but outwardly poised and serene.
A moment later, linkage made, the hatch opened to allow crewmen Reed and Tucker to return to the ship.
"Malcolm, how a—," said the captain, only to fall silent.
The Lieutenant's face was as grim as he'd ever seen it and that was enough to tell Archer that the mission had been horrid. But if Malcolm looked grim, Trip looked worse, much worse. Trip looked past his friend, Jon, flinched as he looked past T'Pol and simply walked away. T'Pol moved to follow him, but Malcolm grasped her gently by the bicep.
"He's had a bad ride, SubCommander. He's going to need some time."
T'Pol gave the man her coldest glance and looked pointedly at his hand.
Malcolm dropped the hand, and said, "I meant no disrespect, SubCommander. I'm just concerned about a friend."
T'Pol's expression thawed fractionally and she said, "I understand, Lieutenant."
Then she moved after Trip and that's when the captain turned on him.
"Malcolm, what the hell happened to you guys? Especially Trip?"
Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but Archer cut him off.
"Don't say 'need to know' Malcolm," said Archer, "because I don't give a shit! Now you're gonna tell me what happened to my crewmen out there, Lieutenant, or I'm gonna beat the crap out of you all up and down the Enterprise!"
"I could use a drink," said Malcolm.
"Yeah, sure, come on," said Archer. "My Ready Room."
Standing in front of Commander Tucker's quarters, T'Pol pressed a button and with her superior Vulcan hearing, heard the corresponding chime from inside the Commander's cabin. No answer, so she pressed again, and once more. Still no response. Given her rank, T'Pol could have over-ridden the security settings of the door, but Vulcans had great respect for privacy. Coming to a decision, she went to her quarters and disabled the security protocol on her cabin door. It would now automatically open for anyone, in case Commander Tucker came looking for her. She then went to the Mess Hall. It was an hour past the Commander's usual time to come there, but she had a feeling he would show up eventually, and he did. He'd showered and changed and T'Pol dared to hope that such was the reason he had not answered her pleas when she was at his door. He was in the shower. He could not answer the door.
For his part, Trip entered the Mess Hall and saw T'Pol sitting at their usual table. She did not speak, she did not motion, she merely looked at him, and he knew that if he did not acknowledge her, she would respect his privacy and try again the next day. But she deserved better than that.
"Iced coffee. French roast. Two tablespoons of sweetened condensed milk," said Trip. "Green tea, half tablespoon of sugar."
A moment later he had his drinks and headed for T'Pol. She looked up at him as he set her tea down and for the hundredth time, Trip was amazed how much emotion she could convey, even with a Vulcan's cultural reserve at work to limit her facial expressions.
It was the eyes. Those almond shaped eyes could convey a dozen different meanings and emotions. At the moment, he saw loneliness, pain that he had walked past her without a glance or a word, distress at seeing him like this, concern for his well-being…
"It's good to see you, T'Pol. I've missed you terribly."
She said nothing for a good minute, as if she was parsing his words for every shade of meaning.
"I feel the same, Commander. I was concerned that you no longer cared for me, after you moved past me as if I did not exist."
"I'm sorry about that, T'Pol. For a moment you reminded me of someone."
"Ke'Relle."
"Yes," said Trip. "You heard. You Vulcans have the best messenger service."
"I have received no dispatches, Commander, but your reaction to seeing me was an emotional one. Since you say nothing has changed between us, since you say I reminded you of someone, Ke'Relle was the obvious choice. Even if you have met other Vulcan females on the Volares, you would not have had enough time to form an emotional attachment to them. So it had to be Ke'Relle."
"I killed her, T'Pol," said Trip miserably, and T'Pol watched the man struggle with his emotions. "I took a dagger, I looked her in the eyes, I stabbed her viciously and then I held her as I felt her die, T'Pol."
"If so, I am certain that she forced your hand, Commander," said T'Pol, reaching out to touch Trip's forearm. "I know the kind of man you are. You would have looked for any other way, before killing her."
"I did," said Trip. "I even found a way out for her with people that would love her like a daughter, but she wouldn't take it."
"Your parents," said T'Pol, "after my people broke her mind."
"Explain your logic, T'Pol."
"If you killed Ke'Relle, than she must have committed some serious crimes. So if she were taken alive my people would want to force mind-melds on her, to determine the extent of her crimes and her involvement with the Happa. Repeated forceful mind-melds will break a mind, or my people would break her mind purposefully afterwards if she were strong enough to resist the mind-melds. Afterward they would release her, seeing this entire process as a lessor evil than killing her."
"And my parents?"
"It was just a hunch," said T'Pol. "It seemed like something you would do."
"A hunch," said Trip, wondering if the Bond was actually responsible for that insight.
"Did you love her, Commander?"
"What?"
"Did you care for her, as I hope you care for me?"
"No," said Trip, caressing T'Pol's cheek with the back of his hand. "Not like you. Never like you. But I hate the fact that I had to kill her, and I hate the fact that she was a—, that she was bred for war."
He had been about to say, 'I hate the fact that she was a Rihansu, bred for war', but he had given his word to Ke'Relle to keep her secret and he would honor that word. T'Pol had heard the hesitation as well. He was about to say something else in addition to bred for war, she thought, then moved on, for the only thing which mattered was that Trip had come back.
"Listen," said Trip, "I'm going to leave now. Any minute someone's going to walk in here and want to know all about my mission and I don't feel like answering questions about it."
"I understand, Commander. Would you like company, or privacy?"
"I'd welcome your company, T'Pol, but I would probably be a miserable companion tonight."
"No matter. I will come, gladly."
Once in his quarters, Trip headed for the bathroom and said, "I'm going to shave real quick. This mini-beard I'm sporting itches like crazy."
T'Pol looked around the room then pulled out the Commander's chair. She stripped naked and neatly laid out her clothes over the back of the Commander's chair and then crawled into bed, under the warm covers. That's how Trip found her when he entered the room, shirtless but still wearing his jeans. Without word he crawled into bed with T'Pol and a moment later she pressed close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
For what seemed the longest time, Trip simply stared at the ceiling. He wanted to forget, just forget everything, but that was impossible and so he would remember only the best of Ke'Relle, her joy, her humor, her beauty and their mutual affection. Perhaps in time, the memory of killing her would fade. Life must go on. That decision made, he turned his head to see if T'Pol was still awake. She felt him move and raised her eyes to meet his and Trip gently pushed against T'Pol and she moved away from him. Trip then slowly drew the blanket away from T'Pol.
Flawless beauty, he thought, as he caressed her body, first with his eyes and then his hand. He paused over the Vulcan heart and T'Pol knew that it was there that he must have thrust the killing blow. After a bit, Trip moved on.
"Stand up. I want to see you fully."
T'Pol moved gracefully off the bed and stood before Commander Tucker, who had spun around to a seated position on the bed, his bare feet on the metal floor. T'Pol was somewhat self-conscious, but considered that a small price to please Trip at a time like this.
"Flawless," said Trip, echoing his earlier thoughts, hand gliding over velvet skin, and T'Pol blushed.
"Turn around. Slowly," said Trip and T'Pol felt his glance and his hands on her body the whole time.
After enduring a few minutes of the Commander's inspection, T'Pol's emotions threatened her control and when the Commander chose to run a hand upwards on the inside of her left thigh, T'Pol gasped aloud.
"Please, Commander. Don't be cruel. I can not wait any longer."
"You sure?"
"Yes, please, Commander."
"I'm exhausted," said Trip with a smile. "I can only promise you two minutes."
Drawing forth on the last of her reserves, T'Pol said, "I have always assumed that two minutes would be your best time, Commander, so I will not be disappointed in the least."
Trip sunk his teeth into T'Pol's left cheek, and said, "You'll pay for that, T'Pol."
That was the last straw for T'Pol.
"May I pay for that now, Commander? Please! I beg of thee."
Trip did not understand, for T'Pol had spoken to him in Vulcan. Nevertheless, her need was clear, and if she was speaking to him in Vulcan, she was losing control. Trip drew her closer to him, and a desperately eager T'Pol kissed him deeply before slipping onto the bed.
The rest of the night was a wonderful dream for T'Pol who went from peak to higher peak, all while trying frantically to rise above the tide of pleasure so that she could ensure that Trip was taken care of as well, but it was useless. It was like the man was toying with her, stripping from her every last shred of logic and control, leaving behind only sensation and emotion. When T'Pol made this realization she climaxed once more, then collapsed into unconsciousness a brief second after crying out in some combination of a scream, sigh and whimper.
Trip laughed with joy when he felt T'Pol go limp, an emotion he had not expected to feel again after killing Ke'Relle, but he had felt the Bond quickening as he moved inside T'Pol, and he had felt the growth of an awareness and a very loving type of power. With that power it was a trivial thing to take T'Pol to her peak and hold her there at his pleasure. He could have done so without even touching his mate.
T'Avala was right. The Bond was a wonderful thing and it grew lovelier still as he moved his awareness through T'Pol's emotions, memories and dreams, for Bond-mates had no secrets from the other. Trip felt her victories, her defeats, her numerous pains and fewer pleasures and he saw a line from this night back to his initial meeting with T'Pol and he now understood that the tel which sparked to life in that meeting would not be satisfied, or give them peace, until they were Bound together. There was no free-will in this matter, no possibility of denying the Bond. They were slaves of that power, but if so, Trip was a willing slave and he knew that T'Pol felt the same, because he knew her more intimately than anyone else ever had, or ever would.
T'Pol woke, drowsy still and instinctively groping for Trip. When she didn't make contact with him, she opened her eyes and looked around, thinking of the wonders of the night before.
"Oh, Surak," she thought, "what have I done."
She was terrified now, for her end of the Bond was not yet active and her consuming fear was that Trip might tire of her one day soon and cast her aside. She knew for a fact that if that happened she would take the logical step to end her misery and it was a grim humor that made her consider her various options in that case.
"Hey, you," said Trip as he entered his quarters, a tray of stacked dishes in his hands.
"Commander," said T'Pol, falling back on formality in an attempt to shield herself from the desire to throw herself upon the Commander and taste once more, his passion.
"Breakfast. You hungry?"
"Starving," said T'Pol, rising out of bed.
Once she'd approached the Commander, he looked her over and laughed out loud.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said, with a tight hug. "You have mattress hair."
"Mattress hair?"
"Yeah, it's like helmet hair."
"I do not know what that means. Should I attend to it?"
"No, it's cute," said Trip, and he meant it.
The hair on the left side of T'Pol's head had bunched up into something of a horn, first going up, then forwards, held together by an overly generous amount of hair spray which she had administered the night before, in her haste to meet the Vulcan shuttle in time.
"Let's eat, T'Pol."
A half hour later they'd finished breakfast, though T'Pol could hardly have named anything of what she'd eaten. She watched the Commander intently and she felt the same intensity from him.
"What is that look?"
"What look, T'Pol?"
"You have a devious look on your face, as if you are planning something underhanded. I warn you, Commander Tu—"
"Actually, I have a wonderful secret and I was just wondering if I should share it with you, or let you eventually find it out on your own."
"A secret?" said T'Pol, and not even the façade of Vulcan detachment could keep her eagerness from being apparent.
T'Pol loved secrets. It was one of the reasons she'd become a scientist.
"Tell me, Trip. Tell me your secret."
"No, you've ruined the moment with your baseless accusations, T'Pol."
"Please, Trip. Please tell me the secret. You know you want to share it with me."
"Ok, go look in the mirror and then I'll tell you."
"Why?"
"Just go."
T'Pol did as the Commander suggested. A moment later, she screamed.
"Trip!"
Trip laughed and a moment later T'Pol came back, brush in hand, working feverishly to tame her mattress hairdo.
"You are a monster!" said T'Pol.
"I'm not the monster," said Trip. "You're the one with a horn."
"Was that the secret?"
"No," said Trip.
"Than what?"
Trip tapped the mattress, and after a last look to make sure her hair looked presentable, T'Pol came to kneel in front of Trip, excitement in her eyes.
"It's a good thing you're not wearing socks, because this secret would blow them right off!"
"Is that so, Commander?"
"It is. Now you have to understand, this is a deep, dark secret, T'Pol. It may drive you to ecstasy, it may drive you to madness. Are you strong enough to handle such emotions?"
"You know that I am, Commander," said T'Pol confidently, certain that such histrionics on the part of the Commander meant an especially juicy secret.
"Ok, but just remember, that you asked for it."
"Yes, yes, Commander," said T'Pol. "I asked."
"Ok. You were a young girl when your father disappeared. You didn't know why he left, or even what happened to him. Do you remember?"
"Yes," said T'Pol, unnerved by the unexpected direction this conversation had taken.
"You used to go in that dry riverbed behind your house every day for months after that happened and cry your eyes out, while T'Les pretended not to notice, though it must have torn her heart out, Vulcan or not."
"How do you know all this, Commander? Have you spoken to my mother?"
"No."
"You were lonely as a little girl, and you were lonely as a teen. The Vulcan Science Academy was a bit better, but not much. No matter where you went, you were an outsider. Oddly enough, you feel more at ease among humans. You still feel like an outsider amongst us much of the time, but at least we accept you as you are, perhaps because we have fewer expectations of you, than Vulcans. You just have to be yourself with us, we don't expect Vulcan perfection."
"Why are you doing this?" said T'Pol, bewildered. "How do you know all this?"
"I'm psychic."
"Really?"
"No."
"Then what? How do you know these things, Trip?"
"And then you met me," said Trip, "and something happened between us, and in a relatively short time we gravitated towards each other, quite easily, I see as I look back on it now."
"And so, Commander?
"And so we come to this, T'Pol."
"Come to what, Commander?" said T'Pol, left hand bunched in a fist and unconsciously pressed hard into her thigh.
"Think it through, T'Pol. Where is your logic?"
T'Pol was confused in a Vulcan way. Her mind desperately sought a logical conclusion, but the possibility that she could be Bound to a human never entered her calculations. Accordingly, her agitation only grew, which further degraded her ability to reason, and so on, and so on. If smoke had started to pour from T'Pol's ears, Trip would not have been the least surprised.
Finally, taking pity on the Vulcan, Trip said, "T'Pol."
Her eyes darted to his, desperate for an answer to an unsolvable problem that seemed the most important thing in the world to her at the moment. Trip grinned at her like the Cheshire cat and sent a hint of it down the Bond to T'Pol, and between that silly grin and the hint, something clicked inside T'Pol.
"No," she said, but she drew out the word, so that it sounded like nnnnnnnooooooooooo, while looking at Trip in amazement.
"Yes."
"Nooo."
"I said yes, you brilliant Vulcan fool!"
"Yes?"
"Oh, yes, T'Pol."
"But it's not possible, Trip!"
"Your logic is flawed, T'Pol," said Trip, and consciously opened his end of the Bond to allow T'Pol to experience the feelings that he held for her, by allowing them to flow openly towards his mate.
T'Pol started crying then, but they were tears of joy and not even the strictest interpreter of Vulcan logic would find fault with her now, for the Bond was of central importance in the life of every Vulcan, the one thing that gave meaning to all the rest of it and an emotional response was completely logical in the face of a mate secured and a Bond completed. Trip reached out to comfort her with a hug, but that only increased the volume of tears and the outpouring of emotion from T'Pol, something that amazed and gratified Trip, even as it surprised him with its intensity.
"Is it too much?" said Trip. "Should I tamp down on the flow?"
T'Pol shook her head, no, and continued right on with the waterworks.
"You gonna be ok?"
T'Pol shook her head, endearingly so, and then prompty blew her nose into one of Trip's t-shirts, which amused him to no end. Rising off the bed, Trip returned a moment later with a small bottle of mirin and a shot glass, which he handed to T'Pol. The sweet sake was from his private stash and he enjoyed it mostly as a replacement for dessert, for it was too sweet to drink in any great quantity.
"This is genuine fermented mirin, T'Pol, not the common swill, which is just sake with sugar added. Costs a dollar more, but it's worth it for times like this."
T'Pol held out the shot glass with both hands, but it still moved about like a drunken sailor dancing a jig. Steadying her hands with his, Trip poured T'Pol a shot of mirin. The Vulcan promptly poured the shot down the hatch.
"Yeah," said Trip. "You were supposed to sip it, a bit at a time, in order to savor the taste."
T'Pol held out the glass once more, and Trip refilled it. This time T'Pol sipped it in one point three seconds.
"Much better," said Trip, then took a shot straight from the bottle for himself. "One more?"
T'Pol shook her head, and set the glass aside.
"I'm going to tamp down on my end of the Bond," said Trip with a smile, "so that you can speak again."
T'Pol tried to frown at the man. That she should lose control at a time like this was completely understandable. She was a girl Vulcan after all, and this was a special moment. She felt the flow of emotions from her mate fade slowly away and mourned their passing almost immediately, comforted only by the fact that she could experience them at any time now that Trip and she were Bound together.
She worked to gain some semblance of control of her emotions by focusing on some elemental breathing exercises and Trip noted that such exercises were bringing full lips together to form a perfect circle. An errant thought of the most scandalous nature travelled down the Bond to T'Pol, just before he cut the flow from his end of the Bond.
Looking up at Trip through her bangs and tear stained eyes, T'Pol said, "Is mirin all that you have for me, Commander?"
"I don't know what you mean, T'Pol," said Trip, truly unaware that his brief lascivious thought had travelled down the Bond to T'Pol.
"Then I will bid you good day, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, rising from the bed and moving for the door, as if she fully intended to walk the halls of the Enterprise in the nude.
Trip rushed her, pinning T'Pol against the cabin's door.
"Stop it! Stop it, you beast!" said T'Pol, resisting half-heartedly and squealing with delight as Trip went on an all out offensive meant to drive the Vulcan back into his bed.
It was Trip's misfortune that Malcolm and Hoshi should walk by his door at that particular time. Hoshi, with the ears of a terrier, froze.
"What are you doing, Hoshi?" said Malcolm.
"Shhhh," said Hoshi, then took a step to rest her ear on Trip's door.
Almost immediately, she started snickering
"Come here," she whispered to Lieutenant Reed.
"Hoshi, I don't feel good about this," said Malcolm. "What if someone walks by here now and catches us in the act"
Hoshi motioned vigorously, and when Malcolm still held back, the Ensign silently mouthed silently, "Get over here now!"
With a sigh, Malcolm pressed his ear to the door. While nearly sound-proof, the vibrations from the other side of the door were transmitted quite clearly, along with the faint sounds of a female's laughter and delighted squeals.
They listened for ten seconds more, Hoshi barely restraining herself, until she could take no more. The Ensign tip-toed away, motioning that Malcolm should follow her. Twenty feet down the hall, her restraint cracked and Hoshi burst out in a raucous laughter.
"I knew it! I knew it! I was right! You thought I was crazy, but I was right!"
"You were right, Hoshi."
"I was right, you pompous British jerk!"
"I just agreed with you!"
"I was right!"
"You were right and I was wrong, Hoshi."
"Oh, man, Malcolm, you don't know how good it feels to be right! You have no idea!"
"Yeah, I can only imagine," said Malcolm, "but now that this thing is over, you made mention of 'making it worth my while' when we began this investigation."
"Sure," said Hoshi. "What do you have in mind? I can get you a couple of extra days on your next leave, or have Chef make you a favorite meal, or—"
"I was thinking of something a bit more personal," said Malcolm, the smile of a scoundrel on his face.
"Oh? OH… Are you sure? I'm all kinds of crazy, Malcolm."
Malcolm snorted and said, "Yeah, tell me something I don't know."
"Do you have any sadistic impulses?"
"I didn't until I started working with you," said Malcolm. "Now I'm full of inner rage."
"Good. Hold on to that rage. I'm in need of a caning."
"What?"
"You'll also need to make a list of your next of kin, Malcolm. You can pin it to your underwear."
"Will do."
"We'll need a rubber racquetball and some twine, so you can fashion a ball gag for me," said Hoshi, "some rattan canes, we can get those from Becky, the biologist on deck three. Some leather strips, a rivet gun, baby oil, then—"
"We need all that?"
"And much more, Malcolm. Look, I haven't been with anyone for a while, but I've had a crush on you since the day I boarded the Enterprise, so if we're gonna do this, let's do it right. Now, are you in, or out?"
Looking into Hoshi's black eyes was like looking into the Abyss for Malcolm. He could swear that he could see the devil there, laughing back at him.
"Lieutenant!"
"Sorry, love," said Malcolm "You were saying?"
"Are you in? Or out?" said Hoshi, fists clenched around his uniform, a manic look on her face.
"Oh, I'm in, Hoshi. All the way in, or as much of me as you can handle."
"Yes!"
"What else?" said Malcolm.
"They'll probably find us dead in the morning. The coroner will write it up as mutual asphyxiation."
"No worries," said Malcolm, now truly worried. "We all have to go sometime."
"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Reed," said Hoshi with a wicked smile. "Make certain that your tray is in the upright position. We're in for a wild ride!"
—0—
Disclaimer: the line' All the way in, or as much of me as you can handle' was from an episode of American Dad. Stan said it to Bullock, and it cracked me up. I thought you'd get a kick out of it, but it's not my line.