T'Pol swiftly secured a perimeter around the stranded ShuttlePod. Regrettably, she wasn't able to meditate and after her standoff with Trip, she found to her surprise she desperately needed to. Despite his hostility, she felt his underlying need calling out to her through the bond even while he was engaged in arguing with her. She knew her mental barriers were stronger than his, and she kept up her defenses. She did not understand his vitriol of late. Although chronologically older than her human companion, she was inexperienced in matters of the heart and did not know how to move forward while retaining the essence that made her Vulcan. Declarations of love were human notions and prior to her involvement with one, she found such proclamations to be distasteful. As a Vulcan, she had always retreated to mediation when she needed guidance and when it came to Charles Tucker III, she appeared to need a lot of guidance.
She set up her scanner to alert her should there be any unexpected motion within a 500 meter radius. Phase pistol holstered at her side and satisfied that there were no imminent threats, she sat beside the Shuttlepod and reflected on her interactions of late with the Commander. Although he was emotionally volatile, she had to concede that he was consistent and had always been so, thus the scientist in her had to conclude that she must be the variable. She entered the hatch of the Shuttlepod and gazed at his still sleeping form. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothed her. He was so peaceful in that moment, she regretted causing him so much distress of late. Perhaps if the bond were severed, he could move on with a human woman who would be better able to address his needs. That would be even more unbearable to her than his leaving for Columbia, but if she could remain part of his life, she could at least know he was safe. When they returned to the Enterprise, she would see what could be done.
When two hours had passed, Trip was still asleep and T'Pol had no intention of waking him or the other two crewmen for that matter. All three had worked tirelessly the entire day and their more delicate human constitution demanded more rest than her Vulcan physique. The night passed uneventfully as T'Pol continued to catalog a number of new species. In the blackness of the night, T'Pol barely recognized the wall of sand heading towards the Shuttlepod.
T'Pol's scanner began blaring a piercing warning too little too late. Instantly, T'Pol ran for the Shuttlepod, awakening her crewmates. "Wake up and brace for impact," she yelled over the sounds of sand slamming into the exterior walls of the Shuttlepod.
"What the hell is going on?" demanded Trip as he roused himself gingerly from his much-needed slumber.
"Sandstorm. No warning." T'Pol responded through gritted teeth as she attempted to secure her lap restraint. Suddenly, and without warning, the Shuttlepod lurched and was thrown on its side, its occupants tossed about like dice. As Crewman Ginsberg attempted to scramble into her seat, she was forcibly struck from behind by an unsecured deuterium canister, lifelessly falling to the deck plating like a sandbag, a gash gushing copious amounts of scarlet blood. Crewman Rogers began to panic, hyperventilating in his seat and screamed. The Shuttlepod continued to jolt and shake violently. T'Pol could no longer see Commander Tucker from her vantage point inside the Shuttlepod as the bunk was still extended and he was no longer in it. She craned her neck to get a better look as the Shuttlepod continued to weather the impact of the sandstorm. She could hear nothing over the visceral, terrified screams of Rogers and noted Ginsberg was probably dead. She tried in vain to activate her scanner as she waited out the impact for some status of Trip. She could still feel him in the recesses of her mind, reassuring her that he was alive, but having not mediated the night before and with the urgency of the moment, she lacked the mental discipline to access the bond in this chaos. After what seemed like an eternity, the shaking subsided and T'Pol drew in a breath assessing herself as being grossly unharmed. Crewman Rogers was still screaming, but at least T'Pol knew he was unharmed as well. T'Pol activated her scanner, and noted that the biosigns of Crewman Ginsberg were no longer present. The guilt was overwhelming. She had barely survived the devastating consequences borne from her own folly at Azati Prime.
"Commander?" she called out frantically. "Trip?!" she shouted, desperate for a response.
On the aft side of the cabin, T'Pol could see the bunk Trip had been sleeping on just moments before move as a low groan emanated from the vicinity. She still could not see him. Through the bond, she knew he was still with her.
"T'Pol...I'm here" Trip said, drawing in a shaky breath. "Are you alright?" he asked, worry infused in his voice.
"I am unharmed" T'Pol answered, "but Crewman Ginsberg is dead and Crewman Rogers is in a state of hysteria. Can you reach the medical kit?
"Uh. I think so. Hang on. As he attempted to pull himself from the wreckage that was Shuttlepod One, Trip realized with a sinking feeling that he could no longer feel his legs. He decided to use his arms to push himself to the top of the bunk. That's when he saw Ginsberg and he felt sick. Pushing down the sharp wave of nausea, Trip accessed the compartment containing the med kit. He pulled out a hypo and pushed into the still screaming neck of Rogers. Immediately, the crewman slunk to the deck. T'Pol exhaled. Smoke and sparks permeated the air between them. T'Pol drew in a shaky breath. "We need to determine the extent of the damage."
Trip's eyes met T'Pol's. "I think you may need to do that. Something is very wrong with my legs," he said gravely.